The Return of Heroes
by TheeDraconian
Summary: Draconian always knew of their fate, and what their world became after their fall. He knew that he must help them, aid them, lest the world fall to fear. He knew, in his cold, ancient heart, that heroes must return. He left his family of Dragons behind to restore those who had inspired him so many years ago.
1. Dreams and Visions Anew

Hello, everyone. My name is Draconian and this is the Overwatch fanfiction I've had in mind for a while. To keep things simple, the rating is going to currently be T, but I've full expectation that it will soon be M. This will be a very dark fanfiction, and if I'm consistent, quite long. Chapter two is on the way already, so be patient, and I will do my best to satisfy. Draconian is my OC. I own nothing else. I welcome constructive criticism, and will not abide spam or hate. I know my writing isn't perfect, so please, bear with me, and if you would like to give some pointers, I'd welcome them. Thank you all, and enjoy.

...

Dreams and Visions Anew

Draconian watched calmly while around him burned hell. He knew what was happening. Had seen it played out on a screen two worlds and countless lifetimes ago.

He had never imagined this. Men in massive metal armor, wielding mauls and swords easily twice their height outside the suit. Robots marching forward, turning into turrets in half a second and shredding their armor and shields. Their lifeblood watered the trampled grass, and from the trees roared fire.

Draconian watched from the boughs of the trees, unconcerned. As he watched, the men - Crusaders, they called themselves - were cut down, until five remained. One was adorned in bright gold armor, purple tassels on his shoulder and blue eyes glowing within. Another wore dark grey armor, his visor glowing orange.

Draconian heard a flutter next to him. A man with almost pure red eyes and black clothing sat perched next to him. "Destrire." Said Draconian. "I said I would be back within a month, our time."

Destrire smiled. "I know that. Explain that to our more impatient kin."

Draconian shook his head. "Let me guess. Jadasr? Clavarion? Hiroselt?"

"Neither. Freoctis."

Draconian sighed. "I tell them to wait a month while I go away for years. Damn time dilation."

Destrire chuckled and looked at the remaining Crusaders, valiantly making a last stand at the gates of the castle. "Isn't this the beginning?"

Draconian nodded. "Close enough. Overwatch will be called here soon. Guess who'll be disguised as a politician."

"Ooh which one?"

"Me. As a Republican. They'll only advocate for the defense of the U.S. Not the world. Luckily the President's a Democrat, so I'll just take a senior Republican, knock him out, take his image until the whole affair is over, and then watch while Overwatch goes through its projected motions."

"Now you sound like a real politician. Manipulative."

"You know I have every intention of aiding Overwatch. Have respect, Destrire. Those dead and dying Crusaders are paving the way for the future. Mock not their memory."

Destrire scowled, looking at the Crusaders, retreating backward to the gates while Omnics battered them back. "Isn't one of those Reinhardt?"

Draconian nodded. "Guess where we are."

"Eichenwalde. And the one in gold armor is Balderich."

"Correct."

Destrire's eyes widened. "So… That means…"

Draconian nodded. "Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison are in their Super Soldier programs, Mercy is reinventing healing from the ground up, Ana is a sniper in the Egyptian army, the Shimadas are run by Hanzo and Genji's father, and somewhere Bastion and Zenyatta are out and about. And eventually, they will all come together.

"And thus Overwatch will be born."

"As I said Destrire. Many years lie between that day. But yes. Soon Overwatch will form, be disbanded, and be brought back by its own accord."

"And you will aid them."

Draconian smiled. "Yes."

Destrire laughed as the Crusaders charged and flung fire at the Bastion units. "You realize you look barely twenty five and expect to join them. You expect them to believe that you hail from a world of Dragons and that you wish to aid them?"

Draconian put a finger to his chin, thinking. "Gee, I don't know Destrire. Eventually we'll have a tragically Cockney British time traveler with just as much sass as ass, a South Korean gamer fighting in a giant pink mech at nineteen, an adult edgelord, a doctor dressing as an angel, a talking, armor wearing, genius intellect gorilla, a cowboy, a robotic monk, and a Brazilian DJ. With all that in mind, I doubt they'll believe I'm a warrior whose family consists of one hundred thousand Dragons, looks twenty five, and whose eternal crush is his high school art teacher during Senior year. Oh, and I wield magic and can summon swords and am a chronic introvert and have social anxiety despite killing necromancers and demons."

"Alright, alright, I get your point. Still, that's a lot of explaining. Think they'll believe all that?"

"The parts I tell them, yes. They don't need to know about the art teacher."

Destrire nodded. "Obviously."

As they watched, hidden in the dark canopy as smoke and fire billowed around them, they Bastion units raised their guns, moving forward. One Crusader's shield shattered, his light green armor perforated by bullets. His visor went dark, and the man crashed down, his armor a tomb. The men pulled the gates shut, Omnics tearing at the massive wooden door. The wood was no match for fast firing lead, and the door splintered in seconds. The Crusaders raised their shields, but the leader was too late. Balderich yelled as bullets bit into his chest, stumbling backward behind their defense.

"His fate is sealed." Whispered Draconian, eyes a sad shade of brown.

"Eichenwalde is falling." Murmured Destrire.

Draconian nodded, acknowledging that the greatest of the German fighters were besieged at best. Destrire fidgeted beside him. "Sir, what do we do?"

Draconian was silent for a span of minutes. "We continue watching. Go around the side of the castle and scale it. Go into your natural form only if you're discovered or sense they're in danger of dying. I will continue watching. There is more to this story. I'd see it complete.

Destrire nodded, red irises glowing as he disappeared into shadow. Draconian jumped down from the trees, watching Omnics stream past. He walked around the castle, unarmed and unafraid.

….

He had almost made it to his destination before he heard a cocking sound behind him. He turned around slowly, a Bastion unit glaring at him with the red light from its interface.

"Fuck." Said Draconian. He leapt to the right as bullets tore at the air, his cape adorned in many colors whipping behind him. The Bastion beeped and whirred, saying something in its code language.

Draconian rushed around it, avoiding it's hail of gunfire. "Man, I really hope you're not the Bastion I'm looking for." He dropped into a crouch, picking up a collection of dirt and pine needles. He threw it into the Bastion's face, then ran, his long legs eating up the ground beneath him. Behind him he heard the crash of the Bastion unit.

He skidded behind a rock, taking a deep breath. Calmly, he surveyed his surroundings. The Bastion had tailed him into a clearing where the smoke was thinner, the sun shining weakly through the black haze in the sky. Just as a plan formed in his head, it burst through a thicket of young trees, spraying bullets.

On a whim, Draconian yelled. "SST Laboratories Siege Automaton E54!" It stopped firing, and Draconian stood up, his hands raised placatingly.

The Omnic's eyepiece flickered, from blue to red to blue again. "You don't know me." Said Draconian. "But you will. You will be one of the few remaining of your kind, of your build, but you have a destiny ahead of you after today. Don't squander it. Turn away from Stuttgart, from Eichenwalde, from the Omnic Crisis, and live another day."

The Omnic inclined its head in an almost doglike fashion, the eyepiece remaining a steady shade of blue. "Yes." Draconian smiled. "That's it."

It then straightened abruptly, the eyepiece back to red. Draconian sighed. "I tried." The Bastion unit as fast as that stood rooted in turret form, the sound of bullets tearing the air to shreds as Draconian cursed. He ducked behind a rock, his eyes glowing gold. "Ah, hell."

He crouched lower, lead skimming the edges of his clothing, an old suit behind which hung his cloak which glowed in strange colors. "Alright, then. Plan B." He raised his hand slightly, a purple red light glowing in his palm. He flexed his hand with the spell in it, and stood abruptly. Draconian jumped to the side, and the Bastion kept firing at the same spot. His invisibility was working. The Bastion had stopped to reload, and Draconian reckoned he had less than two seconds. He sprinted forward, and using his augmented strength, threw the Bastion against a tree.

It straightened, dazed and back in Sentry mode. Draconian approached, wary of its gun. The eyepiece was still red. Draconian's eyes glowed gold, and his hands filled with sparking electricity. His eyes were sad. "Forgive me, Bastion." He said in a low tone. "One day, you will see the necessity of this." The sparks shot out from his hands, short circuiting the Bastion as it thrashed and slumped against the tree. Draconian sighed. He knew, deep down. Here was where Bastion would lay for years.

Draconian turned away, walking back to the castle. Before he left the clearing, he heard it. The chirping of birds. He smiled. Bastion would be fine.

…...

Draconian looked to the sky, seeing the smoke, and returning to the wall he scaled its height, as limber as a youthful child and as experienced as a mountain goat. He came out near the castle's door, and looking around him, spotted Destrire on an arch, waving to him.

Draconian cast his spell again, moving quickly through the crowd of Bastions before they activated thermal imaging. He crawled up next to Destrire, watching close.

"What the hell took you?" Said Destrire.

"Met our Bastion." Draconian put a hand into his pocket, drawing out a few chocolate bars. "Also made a pit stop. Chocolate?"

"Wait… Our Bastion?"

"Yep. The one that eventually joins Overwatch."

"Joy. A war machine in an autonomous peacekeeping organization allowed to exist at the behest of world government."

Draconian chuckled. "Chin up, Destrire. They remedy that themselves."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He took a chocolate bar and ate it slowly while he watched the siege. "So, what happens now?"

"We wait."

"How long?"

"Well either until they die or the German MIlitary shows up."

"Again, joy."

Draconian chuckled, dropping into a crouch as his face became serious. "Unfortunately, I doubt the Crusaders will survive that long. So, we need to lend some assistance. But first…"

"You're curious." Said Destrire. "God, I hate when you're curious."

"A morbid one this time." Relented Draconian. "But I want to see the Crusaders myself. And Reinhardt. Balderich's death and all these Omincs essentially hallow the ground with their death. I'd see every perspective of this event."

"You and your damn curiosity. Fine." Destrire grasped his arm and hauled him up. Destrire smiled, eyes glowing red. "Be safe."

Draconian smiled, embracing his family member. "Once this is done, go back to our world. Let them know I am fine. I must spend my years here until Overwatch reunites, and who can say how long I'll be after? Go, Destrire. Let my family know I am well."

Destrire growled under the muffle of Draconian's clothes. "Yeah, yeah, you damn introvert. Get back here soon, and I'll help."

Draconian smiled wider, and leapt off the arch. He stretched out long fingered hands while he fell, catching a wooden board that stuck out over a river. He leapt back up onto the other side, avoiding the stock still Bastions. Moving stealthily, his feet made no sound, muffled by the cobblestones and soft leather shoes he wore.

Draconian sidled up to the doors, calm and composed. Knowing he'd have to work fast, he began climbing up the massive wooden gate, digging his fingers into the grain. He hauled himself up over the edge, just as the Bastions saw his invisibility wear off and start firing at the perceived threat of Draconian. He leapt down, sneaking warily through the ornate castle as bullets echoed behind him. He held up his hand, flame flaring into it, casting orange light around his surroundings.

The walls were decorated in medieval weaponry and tapestries depicting ancient wars. A long, frayed red rug wound down the steps, leading to the hallways of the castle. He walked the hallways for a good hour before finally finding the throne room. In its center stood a high stone throne, and in it sat a bleeding Balderich.

Two Crusaders, Reinhardt and another, stood by him. The third attended a fire by the throne.

Draconian could hear them speak, their tones worried. "They're firing at the castle."

The one by the fire spoke. "It's only a matter of time before they break through. The military will not make it in time."

Reinhardt spoke angrily, his normally jovial tone snappish. "Quiet, the both of you! We are not dead yet."

Beneath him, Balderich stirred, his gold armor streaked with blood. "My friends… I will not live to see tomorrow…"

Reinhardt's voice became softer, but still firm. "Do not say that sir! Reinforcements are only a ways a off. We will get you patched up and back in the fight!" Even Draconian could hear the forced joviality of his tone.

"You mistake me for a fool Reinhardt. I am no fool." Balderich sighed in pain. "It is only a matter of time before the Omnics break through. Our military will not arrive in time." Balderich coughed, blood welling between his lips. He removed his helmet, showing a bald head with a hard face and soft green eyes. "We will strive for victory gentlemen. Though we only fight our fate."

Balderich coughed again, red spittle flying out from his mouth.

Reinhardt appeared dismayed. "No." He said. "I refuse to relent. There is life in us yet, and while I breathe, I fight."

Draconian sighed. That was the Reinhardt he knew. Even at sixty, Draconian knew he'd be fighting just as fiercely as he was now.

His recollection was shattered by an ominous thunder. He listened closely, a rhythmic marching of metal on stone.

"Shit…" breathed Draconian.

The Crusaders heard it too, standing abruptly at the sound. Draconian leapt out of the shadows, gold eyes frantic. "Run." Said Draconian. "The Omnics are coming for you."

The Crusaders looked at him in shock. Reinhardt stammered, "Wha- Who-"

Draconian shook his head, his tone sharp. "There is no time! Leave now, before the Omnics bring this castle down on you. I will meet you later, but preserve yourselves now!"

His tone was sharp enough make them run. Reinhardt glared at him for a brief second, then turned and disappeared. Balderich regarded him, the light fading from his eyes. "You… Draconian."

He nodded, acknowledging his assumption. "I am sorry Balderich. I cannot save you, but I can defend this place and your Crusaders."

Balderich nodded as well. "Bring those mechanical bastards hell." He slumped further in the throne while the light faded from his eyes.

Draconian walked out of the throne room, into the hallway, his face grim. Two balls of light sprung into his hands, thrusting them out and away from him, where the clung to the walls, illuminating the hallway… and the Bastions marching towards him. Draconian willed the lights away, and held out his hand.

Black mist shimmered in his hand and above his shoulder, solidifying into a massive black sword. It's edge was uneven and crude, so huge that it was twice as tall as Draconian from crossguard to tip. He hefted it onto his shoulder, the weight seeming easy for him. He raised his other hand, a cuboidal light flickering in it. He flexed his hand, and its light flashed around him. This would protect him from their bullets.

The Bastions regarded him, red lights unblinking. Draconian stared back, gold eyes calm and void of emotion. He heard the cocking sound of their guns, and charged.

He slashed and whirled, the massive sword like a leaf in his hands. The Bastions fell before him, Draconian's eyes slowly becoming red with anger. Bullets struck him, his suit and cape repelling them. Arms and legs and oil went flying.

One Bastion grabbed his arm, Draconian angrily jerking it back towards him, taking the Bastion's arm with it. He kicked it into the wall, impaling it in the torso. Several of them turned into turrets, tearing at his body and face.

He leapt into a corridor, the sword fading as he dropped it. He willed lightning into his hands, crackling and sparking as he shot it at the turreted Omnics.

He snarled as more closed in on him, his bare hands swinging at denting their armor.

Just as several of them grabbed his arms and legs, he heard a massive roar, watching the lithe, serpentine mass of Destrire rear up, breaking through the massive wooden door. Omnics were crushed under the wood and claws of his Dragon form, Destrire's red eyes glowing with fury. His tail lashed out, rending the bodies of the seemingly endless robotic army.

Claws encircled Draconian as Destrire grabbed him, hauling him away from the Omnics and outside. Destrire flew away, outside the range of their bullets, pelting the thick scales on his back.

Destrire flew back an hour later, Draconian on his back. They landed at the river beneath the castle, listening closely. Above them echoed gunshots. Not the deep bass of Bastions, but rather the cracks of rifles.

Draconian pointed up. "Inhabit my shadow." He said to Destrire. "We're going up." The Dragon nodded, fading into a deeper darkness than that of other shadows. Draconian started to scale the walls, finding footholds and handholds as nimbly as before. He hauled himself up wooden scaffolding, leaping down into the courtyard. Around him was the German MIlitary, milling around and investigating Eichenwalde. The cracks of rifles had silenced. The Omnics were dead.

His suit turned into that of a soldier, combat uniform and rifle strapped across his back, all just for show.

He walked up to the ruined entrance, the arch where he and Destrire had sat behind him and to his right. The entrance had been blown off its hinges, and inside lay the twisted wrecks of Omnics Draconian had rent apart.

"Sir!" He heard to his right. A soldier rushed past him, to who was presumably the commanding officer. "These Omnics… The reports say they were destroyed by swords. Giant swords."

The commander scoffed. "I can see that, private. The Crusaders use those weapons. Speaking of which, we found their leader. Balderich. He's dead. Died on that throne of his."

"That's just it sir." said the private, his Adam's apple bobbing in nervousness. "They say… they say that they didn't kill these Omnics. And that, there was a man in the castle. He heard them coming and told them to run."

The officer was mulling the thought over. "Well? Did they find this man?" The private shook his head. "Verdammt." Said the officer. "Conduct a full scale investigation of Eichenwalde, and find this man. I'd speak with him."

The private nodded once more, and backed away.

Draconian took this as his cue and left, as morning sunlight began to filter the air, birds chirping as they awoke with the dawn. Draconian had almost made it out before he heard it. "Hey!"

Draconian turned, watching as Reinhardt strode toward him, out of his armor and bandaged from his wounds. Reinhardt's long blond hair and blue eyes catching the sunlight. Draconian smiled, his army fatigues fading into his suit and cape, his eyes flaring bright gold for a moment, before disappearing before Reinhardt in a flash of white smoke.

On the morning breeze whispered a soft, deep voice. "Soon, Reinhardt. You'll meet me soon."

…..Chapter 2 coming soon


	2. Watchful

Hello again, everyone. This is the second chapter of my Overwatch fanfiction, and as stated, would take quite a dark turn, with no small amount of visceral depiction in this chapter. To clarify my plans for this fanfiction, I am going to cover all the Overwatch characters before Overwatch, during, after the fall, and then when it is revived. Next up will likely be Ana and Torbjorn during the Omnic Crisis, and after that the very beginning of Overwatch. Afterwards, we will do the characters as they join Overwatch, as well as the events during Overwatch's prime. This includes McCree, Winston, Lena, Pharah (at the very end of Overwatch's first life span), the events of Genji and Hanzo, Junkrat and Roadhog, Symmetra being recruited by Vishkar in her childhood, and so on. As I said, very in depth. Even Doomfist will be included during Overwatch's first life span. And remember, Draconian will watch and wait until Overwatch reunites fully for the second time. This chapter details Winston's beginnings as well as Soldier 76's and Reaper's. If you have any suggestions for both Soldier's and Reaper's personality, I'd welcome them. I'd like them not to be boring. :P And one more thing, if you've read this far. I refer to Winston as an infant because 1. That's what a baby gorilla is called, and 2. He hasn't recieved his name yet at this point in time.

...

Watchful

Time passed in fits and starts for Draconian as he waited. Waited for the day that should come. But he knew it was a ways off. The Omnic Crisis was still in full swing, the world searching for answers. Any answer. In desperation they looked, and Draconian knew that soon, it would be time. But not yet. Overwatch was yet to be born.

…

Draconian watched as the figure walked up the ramp of the aircraft, his features strong and firm, a spitting image of what they called the Aryan race. Blond hair, blue eyes, a strong jaw, muscular physique, hefting his rifle like it was nothing. In time, Draconian knew the blond hair would fade to a grayish white, the blue eyes picking up a contained ferocity in them. But the man would age much more slowly than others.

Draconian boarded the jet behind Jack Morrison, the latter oblivious to the former for what he was. _Just another government official,_ thought Draconian. _That's me._ He was assigned as part of an escort for Jack Morrison, one of two federal agents. The second agent was knocked out in a Porta potty somewhere, the other bringing up Jack's other side. Draconian's clothes had melded to that of a federal agent, and off he went.

The jet's flight was long and arduous, but Draconian entertained himself with the notion of his Dragons back home, as well as the person he'd left behind. While a few weeks had passed here, the time dilation effect would have passed only an hour in their world at most. Not that it mattered to Draconian. He aged so slowly as to be imperceptible.

He was shaken from his thoughts when the jet landed. Outside lay the sprawling, futuristic Washington D.C., the cars and buildings gleaming. But Draconian knew that the city was also prepared for war. An ability akin to a sixth sense told him where the turrets were hidden underground, in the parks, on the buildings, in the Potomac River. While on the outside it looked peaceful, Draconian felt otherwise. He knew he could not stop history… only influence it.

A black suburban waited for them, driving them a half hour away to their destination. They parked outside it, a nondescript government building with reflective windows. They walked inside, a scientist and a man in army fatigues talking in hushed tones. The building was nice, with an orderly design of benches and several bookcases with old volumes of law in it.

Jack walked up to them while Draconian watched. "What the hell's going on here?" He said. He sounded not at all happy about being pulled from the line of duty. "I should be back at West Point training and preparing for deployment for the next Omnic threat."

The general regarded him coolly, his eyes raking Jack. Jack's glared right back. "Get the broom outta your ass, soldier." Quipped the general. "We're here for some top secret shit, so you can cut the bullshit formality with other politicians and tell me to fuck off all you want. All I want is for you to listen a second."

The general took out a cigar, lighting it without regard to the polished interior of the building. "Son, listen. These Omnics are shitting all over the world's military forces. Germany damn near last Stuttgart were it not for some mystery man who disappeared after the siege." Draconian smiled to himself. "Point is, we need more than just infantry son. We need more than cannon fodder. We need whatever the kids call it these days. Captain America or some shit. We need hardcore fuckers who can take the fight to the Omnics and shit on them for a change."

Jack remained silent. The general continued. "So, we gathered a group of some of our greatest scientists and put them to work. Wouldn't you know it, without politics, we actually got some shit done. We came up with an Experimental Soldier Program, designed to make you, the spitting image of American exceptionalism, as well as a few others, in short, a fucking badass."

"What does it entail?" Asked Jack. "Surely there's a catch."

The general scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Well… we got an organization in the works at the moment. Nothing official or solid yet though. But we've been eyeballing some people with traits like yours, and once we get enough, we're thinking of throwing it at the U.N to get approval."

"Who are the other soldiers?" Asked Jack.

The general smiled. "Gabe! C'mon out son!"

A muscular, dark skinned man walked out from a set of doors leading inside. He shared similar features to Jack, but where Jack was light, this man was dark. His skin was a warm chocolate caramel, a dark close cropped beard framing his lips. He wore a black beanie and black combat fatigues, a set of grenades on his hips and left thigh. His eyes were dark brown, contained and murky in their depths.

"Who's this?" Said Jack.

"Gabriel Reyes, meet Jack Morrison. You're the first two sons'a bitches who get it in on this action."

The two men shook hands, an awkwardness between them. Gabe spoke up, a rattle and rasp of a voice, like that of snakeskin on sand, only deeper. "Well, I'd introduce myself, but the general already did that. So I guess the basics I need to cover are the rooms are still shitty, the beds are shittier, and the food's worse than fucking boot camp. Other than that, welcome to yet another black ops setup, where the government literally doesn't give a fuck if you're captured or tortured!" He smiled then, a close lipped smirk.

Jack laughed. "Well, guess nothing's changed then. So, we're getting pumped full of some shit that turns us into fucking Call of Duty characters?"

Reyes nodded. "That about sums it up, yeah."

Jack laughed again. "Alright. Let's get this shit done." He and Reyes walked into the building, the general smiling to himself on a job well done.

Draconian, who had extricated himself from the group and who now sat on a bench near them, listened closely. The book in his hands he paid no attention to as he watched, discreet and wary.

With Jack and Gabriel gone, Draconian rose, walking up to the general. He turned in surprise to see the false face of a federal agent. "Sir." Draconian asked. "What happens now, with those men in this program?"

The general regarded him with the same flinty look he had given Jack on arrival. "You mean they didn't tell you?" Draconian shook his head. "Well, first we inject them with some pretty crazy shit you just can't get on the black market, and then we train them with their preferred weaponry, as well as stuff like covert ops, battlefield simulation, martial arts, et cetera."

"And what organization did you allude to?" In truth Draconian already knew the answer to this, but he would have liked to hear it's name.

The general's gaze went from cool to chilly. "Why, you're mighty curious for an agent. Why would that be?"

Draconian bowed his head in a fake act of submission. "I'd only like to know why one regular G.I is so important sir. The nature of my mission, and all that stuff they shove up your ass at the CIA."

The general stared him down, and finally relented. "Overwatch, they're calling it. Some elite international task force to combat the Omnics. We got our eyes on a few candidates."

Draconian nodded. "Thank you sir. That's all."

And with that Draconian left the building, smiling at the first mention of Overwatch.

…..

The Earth hung still and silent in the blackness, a jewel of blue and green and white. Draconian smiled to himself, watching the orb rotate ever slowly through the great expanse of space. The Horizon Lunar Colony had done a good job of the base. It felt clean and sanitary, and the scientists were making strides in the research of space on the body.

Of course, Draconian also felt sadness for those scientists, and knew that they would die here on the moon, the absence of sky and sun their final sight as the stars shone coldly. He could not stop it. Only accept it.

For its size, the Colony itself was massive, and due to the sparse population of only some hundred odd scientists, made it only feel bigger. Draconian estimated that it could hold about two hundred thousand people. It was a good first attempt, but Draconian knew better. The gorillas would overthrow this place, and even he could not guess what would happen to this place, be it disrepair or whether they'd all butcher each other. He didn't even know the world's answer to the uprising, or the solution.

Draconian shook his head and growled to himself. He was overthinking things again.

He started down the hall, enjoying the silence and the flap of the lab coat, which reminded him of his cape. He could always change his clothing back into what he preferred, his old rumpled suit, the cape which seemed to be barred and stamped with lines of liquid color, shifting and glowing ever so slightly. But then, he'd have to explain that to the scientists.

He was now posing as a scientist named Martin Hershel, whose credentials stated he was on expert on aerospace engineering. His job was to make sure everyone kept breathing… literally. He was responsible for the recycling of air and carbon dioxide throughout all parts of the base. The real Martin Hershel was passed out in a hotel room, magicked by Draconian into a vegetative state until he returned to Earth. He had made sure no harm befell the man, making sure that the man subconsciously rolled over to avoid bedsores, breathed deeply enough to avoid brain damage, and slowed his metabolism to a near stop. He'd be rather hungry and confused when he woke up, but it was a better fate than the one that awaited him here. He magicked the image of the scientist over him and joined the scientists as the rocket ascended high above the Earth.

Draconian continued walking for a short while, stopping at the cafeteria for a quick bite. In truth, he no longer needed to eat, but it was a luxury and a habit, especially as he served himself cheese tortellini in red sauce. The only thing missing that Draconian really needed was some Mountain Dew Baja Blast. Then he'd be in tip top shape.

Before Draconian left, he had an idea. Glancing around, he grabbed a banana from one of the other tables piled around the eatery and smiled. He'd pay a visit to who he'd come to observe. His dorm, for lack of a better word, was small but tidy, with a framed picture of a young, handsome scientist whose arm was around a young gorilla, his bright yellow eyes were keenly intelligent and excited. The scientist's face held a look of happiness and calm, light brown eyes sparkling.

The gorilla in question, whose name he would adopt from his murdered caretaker, was seated on the bed, looking out the window to where the Earth sat suspended in warm light. Draconian cleared his throat, the gorilla flinching as he turned to look at him with a confused expression.

"Hello my friend." Said Draconian, his mouth curved in a slight smile. "How are you today?"

The gorilla smiled, seemingly happy. Draconian pointed out the window. "Serene, no? Peaceful and quiet?" The gorilla nodded. "Indeed, it has its moments. Though it's a bit turbulent as well. Do you wish to visit it one day?" He nodded more vigorously. Draconian regarded him warmly. "You will, one day. You don't know it yet, but soon, you will do great things there. Have patience."

And Draconian began to change, going from the portly, thin haired scientist to the young man he appeared to be, his suit characteristically rumpled, eyes glowing gold, long brown hair similarly messy. He sighed sadly, looking at the individual who would soon to become known as Winston. "For what it's worth, I apologize for the events that transpire. I cannot stop it, and nor would I, for I cannot fight Fate. But it will begin your life in full. You are more than a test subject, my friend. And you will know why come the day you see me again. Do tell Lena hello for me." And Draconian changed back into the older scientist, walking out. Before he left, he tossed the banana he had taken from the cafeteria to him, winking conspiratorially.

He was two halls down when he rounded the corner into another scientist, accidentally knocking a jar of peanut butter from his hands. Draconian, recovering his wits faster than any human should have been able to, handed it back to him. "My apologies sir. Didn't see you there."

The man stood back up, a man with a kind face and twinkling brown eyes and slender figure. "No apologies." He said, smiling. "I appear to have misplaced my glasses. Or he stole them again." He chuckled, smiling good naturedly.

"What is the jar for?"

"Hmm? Oh, just in case the little bugger has my glasses. He's very smart, you know. Passing the gene therapy like no other of our test subjects. He's almost human." The man's eyes filled with pride at the mention of Winston.

Draconian nodded. "Ah, I see. And the other test subjects?"

The scientist's eyes clouded over. "Ah… them. Well, they have just as much intellectual capacity and thinking as our little one, but…" Draconian raised an eyebrow.

"They're quiet. Very quiet. Their brainwave patterns are dark and murky, and we can't make sense of them. We treat them kindly, it's just… They sit and stare and nothing else. They have no other interest in anything, and will eat only when we give it to them, not when they feel like. They possess… No autonomy really, unlike the one who stole my glasses."

"Would you mind if I look at them?" Asked Draconian. He shook his head.

"Thank you. Oh, and one more thing, I do not believe we met. What is your name?"

The scientist perked up. "Dr. Harold Winston. And yours?"

"Dr- Uh, Martin Hershel."

Harold Winston shook his hand. "Good to meet you, Mr. Hershel." He smiled, and walked away, humming a joyful tune. Draconian felt sad for those like Harold who would meet their end here. But he could not brood on it, lest the future became wrought with wrongs of how Overwatch assembled.

…..

Draconian walked into the laboratory where the gorillas who were being studied were kept. He did not expect it to be so far deep in the base, as well as held underground in the moon. _So here's where they conduct the gene therapy._ Thought Draconian. As far as he knew, the scientists were kind and did no wrong to the primates, only studied them under conditions like the ones on the lunar colony, giving them human levels of intelligence.

The level was dark, the few lights dim and flickering in an ominous fashion. Whoever the engineer was for the lights clearly did not like being down here. Draconian struggled not to summon a sword, so alien was the atmosphere.

He walked along slowly, his eyes no longer a watery green, instead burning gold. His walk subconsciously became a prowl, his heightened senses alert. The glass cages seemed empty, full of whatever a simian could want: a tire swing, pool of water, trees, artificial bedding. He glanced at the cages, approaching one slowly, peering in at the blackness within.

Nothing. No movement, no sound. Then multiple things happened at once. A massive thunk emanated from the glass, a gorilla standing tall and imposing, yellow eyes glowering at Draconian, had appeared as suddenly as that. He leapt back in shock, his fists clenched and ready to summon whatever he needed.

The gorilla sat there, a human expression of… loathing on his face. Of murderous intent. But it sat, still and silent. Even pounding on the glass it made no sound besides when it hit it. No roar, no announcement of rage. Nothing. Draconian glared back, gold eyes against yellow. He knew he couldn't stop their little revolution. But he did want to know why it happened to begin with.

He walked out of the laboratory, his footsteps echoing in the oppressing dark.

…

 _God I hate coming down here._ Thought the geneticist as he entered the dark room. The presence of about thirty other researchers did nothing to reassure him, and he wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea for what they were doing today. Today they were going to let the gorillas roam the facility in which they were kept, in hopes of raising their interaction.

That they had done so little but given so much intelligence was… disturbing. As if they were thinking. The brainwave patterns observed by other scientists said as much, and the thoughts were often dark and convoluted. Only one specimen had been absolutely positive with the gene therapy, subject 32a. Coincidentally the only infant brought to the lunar colony. Perhaps it had to do with the impressionism of the brain. The geneticist would make it a point to study after the first test.

The geneticist in question, Dr. Tyrrell Mason, was initially ecstatic to see the effects of the lunar colony and genetic remapping, and the gorillas at first were just like any other. Silverbacks with their own base hierarchy and Alpha. After the therapy had concluded, the hierarchy dissolved, and was replaced with the tenuous silence they now displayed.

Mason was now unsure of those effects, except in the infant, who displayed youthful effects such as stealing bananas and glasses from his caretaker. Even though he was mischievous, he displayed human levels of intelligence and expressionism, and thus was allowed his own dorm. They even let him get away with the occasional banana or two.

He walked into the room, the same reluctance in his step as was in the others' eyes. He sighed. He couldn't shake the gut feeling of this being a bad idea. But it wouldn't have been funded and put on the moon if there was reasonable doubt.

He nodded to the scientist over by the enclosure. He pressed his hand to a panel, and it slid back, the gorillas in the cage turning slowly to the opening in a rare display of movement.

Mason's breath was held as they walked over to the opening, stepping outside and observing their surroundings. The scientist over by the panel smiled uneasily as they passed him by, a total of about thirty gorillas. The others watched anxiously, sweat dripping down their faces from nervousness.

They stopped in front of Mason, who regarded them with a mix of awe and fear. Mason, nervous but determined, regarded them. "Can you… Can you understand me?" He asked.

The gorilla nodded, a very human like gesture. Mason reached out his hand. "Thank goodness. We started to fear the therapy didn't work. It is good to see you up and about." The gorilla nodded again, reaching his hand up to gently grasp the man's forearm.

"Incredible!" Said Mason. "The results are slow, but excellent. It's wonderful to see the progress you are making." He smiled, starting to draw back his hand.

The gorilla held onto it, trapping his hand firmly in its grasp.

"Now, now, my friend." Said Mason, smiling. "I need to write this event down. Would you be so kind as to let go?"

The silverback tightened his grip, making Mason squirm in pain. "Please my friend, let-"

And the gorilla tore his arm off at the elbow. A fount of blood erupted from his stump, the fingers in the gorilla's grasp squirming and arching themselves, the nerves disconnected from his body. Mason stood stock still, his face going pale. "Oh." He said. And then he toppled backward.

The other scientists were paralyzed in fear, the brainwave monitor at the back of the room black and red with hate.

The gorilla, deathly silent for so long, stood up, pounded his chest, and roared. Those of his troop stood up and did so as well. The scientists, cornered and stricken with fear, screamed and yelled in fear, more than one losing control of their bowel movements.

The gorillas lumbered closer, and the floors and walls ran red, pieces of white and pink and grey smattering against the floor.

…..

Draconian, relaxing with his journal in hand and writing an entry, sighed and tore out the page. He crossed his hand over it, and the page went blank again. He began writing again, a letter this time, instead of an entry. Upon its completion he folded it up, where it smoldered in his hand, consumed by a blue fire. The ashes drifted away, and he stood up, yawning. _Perhaps,_ thought Draconian, _it is time for a yearly nap._ Draconian decided that would be the best use of time, and walked to his dorm, a glass of milk in his hands.

He settled into the small bed, closing his eyes.

He was jarred awake from his reverie when he felt it. A sense of danger, of violence, and death. Slinking from the bed, the portly scientist's figure moving in a feline grace, he walked out, hands splayed and ready to summon fire.

He heard it then, his keen ears picking up the echoes from the hallway. Screaming. Roars. Grunts. Crunches and a sound like a water balloon being popped repeating itself sickeningly. Slowly, red began to bleed into the edges of the scientist's watery green eyes, anger and bloodlust coming upon Draconian.

"What are you doing?" A voice came from behind Draconian. Turning, he saw him. Harold Winston, the infant gorilla on his shoulders, looking at him with recognition and curiosity. Draconian, worried for his safety but still knowing his fate, looked at him calmly.

"Someone knocked on my door. I went to see who it was, but there was no one there. Likely one of the younger scientist's playing the merry fool." Draconian smiled easily, waving his hand in an air of dismissal.

"Ah." Said Harold. "Well, would you mind accompanying me to the enclosure for the gorillas? I got a call on my mobile from Mason. He was quite incoherent however, and I believe he got himself stuck in something. Probably the exhibit." He chuckled.

Draconian eyed him warily. "I could. This late, though?"

Harold eyed him. "You realize it's morning right?"

Draconian's eyes narrowed. "God damn it." He cursed. "This is why I don't sleep. My sense of time is screwed over."

Harold looked at him warily. "Are you okay, Martin?" Draconian looked back down the hall.

"Positive. Just tired still." He gave him his best winning smile.

"Hmm." Harold mused. "Okay. Well, let's just go take a look and…" He stopped when he heard the same thing Draconian did. Down the hall, pattering down on its hands and feet, was a large male silverback gorilla. "Huh." Draconian heard Harold say. "I could've sworn they were just going to keep them in the facility…" The gorilla heard him speak, turning to him with murder in its yellow eyes, and spotting the infant on his back, rage.

"Harold." Spoke Draconian softly. "Run." His body was as tense as a guitar string ready to snap.

The gorilla roared, and behind him streamed more. And more. And more. Until a total of thirty gorillas stood in the hallway. Draconian shed the image of the portly scientist, a purplish black void filling his right hand and flame in the other. The silverback charged him faster than Draconian would have thought. It launched a punch with its left hand, feinted, and sucker punched him with the right straight in the jaw. While it would have killed any regular human, Draconian was anything but, although it still staggered him. He willed the sword to life from the void, serrated and curved and edged in black runes.

He shook it off, slashing at the gorilla with ease. Its arm collapsed with the heavy thunk of muscle and bone, twitching on the ground. It howled, clutching the place where its lost limb had been. Draconian thrust out his left, looking at the gorilla with pure contempt. He flexed his hand, its head spinning one eighty on its shoulders, collapsing with another loud crash.

The others roared and charged him. While Draconian had all confidence he could handle intelligent primates, he knew he was going to have to slog it out. What he did not was expect was five of them pummeling his body while the other twenty three ran off into the depths of the lunar colony. "No!" shouted Draconian, eyes fully red with rage. Laying on the floor while the gorillas attempted to smash his face in, he lashed out, grabbing one's arm and snapping its wrist like dry wood. He took hold of the loose limb, swinging it around like a bolo, the others jumping back or getting hit by their brethren's weight.

He stood up again, coughing slightly, and willed the sword to life again, his left hand flinging fire at the incapacitated primate, where it burned and howled as flame consumed it.

The other four circled him, wary. They charged him separately, grabbing for his legs with arms outstretched. He raised his foot as one leapt, catching it with foot and stomping hard. The crack of bones echoed loudly in the corridor, along with its howl. Unfortunately for Draconian, his leg sank through the floor, right through the metal, his leg soaked with gorilla blood.

The others rushed him as well while the other writhed in pain, tendon and flesh anchoring him to his mutilated appendage. He brandished his sword, keeping two at bay while the third grabbed at his cape, the fabric resisting tear. "Not my cape, you hairy fucker." Snarled Draconian. He threw himself forward, wrenching his foot out of the metal and throwing the gorilla forward. He flipped forward, bringing his sword down into the chest of the one on his back.

"And then there were two." Draconian brandished his teeth in a savage smile, nimbly avoiding the swiping paws of the gorilla. He stepped inside one's reach, touching its chest briefly. It clutched at its heart, toppling backward, as blood surged from its mouth.

The last one looked at him with more wariness than before, seeing the odds were evened. He began to run back down the hall where the others went. "Oh no you don't." Said Draconian, he raised his hand, arching his fingers and dragging it back to him. It looked at him in fear, its yellow eyes pleading to no avail as Draconian buried the sword in its chest.

Satisfied, Draconian turned to where the rest had gone. The screaming was prominent, even now. He began walking down the hallway, dragging the sword tip on the ground in a screeching sound of what awaited.

…

Draconian knew the rest were doomed, watching as some scientists valiantly fought back, others cowering in alcoves or on top of giant telescopes. The path he followed had led him to the launch deck, where pods were stored for emergency situations. It was also where rockets landed to drop off supplies.

Now, instead of being a room with a pristine glass dome, multiple pallets and crates, and a few forklifts, it was a bloodbath. Bodies lay strewn about the area, as wide as a football field. Near where Draconian entered he heard screeching, but not that of a human. Of an infant gorilla. One gorilla was trying to reach into an alcove while the others slaughtered the humans.

Draconian, eyes a furious red, plunged his sword into its back multiple times, dragging its body out. The infant gorilla, wearing a human made jumpsuit, crawled out fearfully, looking at Draconian. He sheathed the sword, not wanting to cause him any more fear.

"Come now, young one." Whispered Draconian. "We have to go. It's not safe here." He held out his hand while the infant crawled out. "There. Now, hold very still. I'm going to turn you invisible for a brief span, as well as myself. After that, I'll hoist you on my back." The infant made an inquiring sound, his yellow eyes afraid. Draconian was not fluent in gorilla but could guess what he said. "I'll look for him. I promise. Let me get you to safety first, and I will." He dropped into a stealthy crouch, sneaking his way through the compound towards an escape pod. The room was now completely silent except for the sound of the troop of gorillas.

His soft leather shoes made no sound, and nothing seemed alert to his presence. Draconian almost made it, the infant clinging to his back silent as a stone, when their invisibility wore off.

"Ah fuck…" Whispered Draconian. Three of the gorillas, grunting and snorting and rifling through crates, turned to face him, and roared.

"Time for plan B." He said. He sprinted to the pod, pushing Winston in as he met his adversaries. He rushed them, the sword back in hand as he cut them down quickly. But it was too late. The others roared and charged, Draconian ready to meet them. That was when he saw him.

Harold Winston, his legs at a crooked angle and blood running from his mouth. His glasses were perched precariously on his nose, and he reached out and grasped Draconian's leg, the last bit of life in him.

Draconian, who regarded him sadly, was shaken from his thoughts when they roared again, almost on top of him. He righted himself, thrusting out a hand as a wall of fire erupted between he and they.

Draconian, knowing he had precious little time, beckoned the infant gorilla over, who had watched frightfully. He sidled up to the scientist, tears leaking from his eyes. The doctor spoke quietly, but Draconian heard his last words as he took his glasses off and put them on the infant. "Dare to see, Winston… Dare to see…" And the light faded from his eyes to reflect the stars above.

Draconian stood back up, carrying Winston back to the shuttle as he clutched his father figure's glasses. Weak from the effort of extending the flame for so long, Draconian closed the glass air lock, sagging against it. The gorillas, having watched the fire go out, surged toward him.

"Have at me, you bastards." Whispered Draconian. He pounded the glass panel for the shuttle, and Winston disappeared into the vacuum of space, watching helplessly.

Draconian sighed. He wasn't worried. They couldn't kill him. Not here. They would damn sure make him sore for a while, maybe even break something in Draconian's magic augmented body, but they couldn't kill him.

Just as they were ten feet away, a blue white light appeared shining in the dark compound like a star. The gorillas turned, looking at the light in rage.

Slowly it melted away, and in its midst hovered a Dragon, a map of white twinkling stars on its wings and body, it's serpentine head and orange eyes glowing. It's body burned shades of blue, a fine dust flowing from it, as if it were emitting aura.

The rest of the gorillas were suddenly lit ablaze from within as blue white light speared the height of their bodies, leaving naught but charred corpses.

The Dragon floated down, resolving itself into a human shape until it stood in front of Draconian. Her orange eyes were bright and merry, her clothing simple cut, as if wearing a cowl and dress out of material from a star. Her hair was blacker than space. She smiled.

"I got your letter." She said in a lilting, almost ancient voice.

Draconian coughed, his chest feeling as if it had been pounded on by a few primates. "Thank you, Sorarivon." He stood up wearily. "I didn't think you'd get it in time." She laughed.

"We galaxy Dragons move quick you know. Getting here was a pain though." She frowned. "Oh Draconian. They really gave you a beating." He chuckled.

"I'll have worse I'm sure. How are things back home?" She smiled again, happier.

"Very well. Though not much changes in an hour. The galaxy Dragons… Oh, sir, we could spend eons mapping the stars and celestial objects and not find everything. It is beautiful, the expanse of space above our world."

Draconian smiled. "I'm glad. And… how is she?" Sorarivon caught on immediately.

"She is good…. Unaware. But good. Her paintings are quite beautiful. I observed them when I visited the city once."

He nodded. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear. Sorarivon… if you would be so kind, please make sure our young Winston makes a safe reentry to Earth. Vouch for him please, and tell them what happened. I must rest and recover until I'm healed."

Sorarivon nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Tell the family hello again." She nodded, kissing him on his faintly stubbled cheek, and disappeared in a cloud of blue dust, smiling at him as she faded.

Draconian sighed, closed his eyes, and rested, knowing that there was much more to be done.


	3. Sands

_Author's Note:_ Hello again everyone. :) I must say, I'm liking the progress. This chapter was meant to be both Torbjorn and Ana, but it got too long with a bit of Draconian's backstory, plus some of his more humanizing elements. Just a few things in this brief author's note. Do you guys want ships like Pharamercy, GenjixMercy, Reaper76, McHanzo, and so on? If you do, I'll oblige, but be warned. I've never written an LGBT character before, so bear with me. Also, after Torbjorn there's one more character after Torb that's a part of the original Overwatch team. Liao. Any idea how to write him and what he does? And one more thing, because my school bell rang and I have to leave quickly. I would appreciate it if you left a review. Following and Favoriting is up to your discretion, but please leave a review. Til next time everyone! -TheeDraconian

Sands

The desert sun beat down on Draconian mercilessly, its glaring orange eye attempting to crisp the strange young man to death. _Burn all you want._ Thought Draconian. _I've fought mages who burned me with greater heat than that._ Even in his suit the heat did nothing to affect him. The light, however, hurt Draconian's more sensitive eyes, and so had willed his cape to form a shawl that shielded them.

In the distance, pyramids rose from the sands, looking like glorified potato chips, pocked as they were from exposure to the elements. The climate reminded him of when he had played Fallout New Vegas, harsh and killing in his life twice removed. But it was nothing to what his Dragons lived in, always choosing harsh environments to live in.

Some of his galaxy Dragons even chose to live in the cores of stars or the fringe of black holes, denying the laws of gravity and physics and floating in a dreamlike state through places that themselves began to dissolve physics. Draconian remembered when one of his family members had returned from space. His name was Preceyis, a Dragon with a white yellow hide, shining like Sorarivon's. His eyes glowed a violent purple, and the webbing of his wings was a dark blue with white dots like stars in the blue black canvas.

Draconian, who had been in a forest at the time, exploring the world which had come after the first, was surprised to see him, estimating that none of the galaxy Dragons, of which there numbered about three thousand of the one hundred thousand Dragons in total, would return for a very long time.

He remembered how the white light Preceyis emitted gave him away, the Dragon moving smoothly through the trees. "Preceyis." Said Draconian. "What are you doing here? It's only been a couple of weeks. I did not expect you to return for a few thousand years, at least."

The Dragon smiled, his lips curling up in an ecstatic display of excitement. "Ah sir. I come bearing news. Of our findings in the reaches of something new entirely. Upon our departure we had observed the constellations of this new world, looking for any mark with which to depart. Our kind were confused, however, and we noticed something. That the constellations and maps of the stars had been changed entirely."

"Thus we decided to simply pick a direction at random and fly. Draconian… it has been two weeks and already we have found places that defy description. Stars cool enough for a human to touch, black holes that absorb naught but light, quasars that spin only as fast as a human walks, neutron stars as light as a feather. Planets that have only remnants of civilization upon them, crumbling pyramids mixed with strange metal that is entirely paradoxical. Sir, we have found things that simply defy belief. And I, as well as many others, have returned to tell you of them."

Draconian, his eyes keen with interest, looked at Preceyis in askance. "Who else?"

"Ah, Tyraoz, Nilyus, Zarovi, and many others." Preceyis smiled again. "And what of you sir? Any luck here? Exploration or otherwise?"

Draconian nodded, smiling. "Indeed. As far as I and the other Dragons can tell, the world is entirely medieval in terms of technological advancement, architecture, writing, and what is and what is not socially acceptable, with a few key differences. The first is that those who do not fit traditional gender norms are not discriminated, nor is skin color. Religion appears to have taken a backseat in terms of prominence. It is still there, but far more minor. I don't even know what kind of deity or deities they worship."

"Another thing is that some of my Dragons who live pretty much on the edge of the atmosphere tell me the world has different landmasses. Nothing like the last two, not even remotely. There are also a massive amount of forests and rivers, with quite a few tall mountain ranges interspersed here and there. It is the same size as the first as well, and civilization is rather few and far between, but holds both medieval aspects as well as amalgamations of other cultures."

Preceyis, listening deeply, spoke up. "Did you find-"

Immediately Draconian raised his hand sharply, cutting off Preceyis. "Yes, Preceyis. We did. But please, refrain from mentioning that now. It is still too early for that. And you know how I am. I would stammer out the words in an embarrassing manner, and I will not shame myself."

Preceyis sighed. "My apologies sir. I would've thought…"

"That this change in the world and of power comes with the confidence I need to begin even a friendly relationship with woman? Not yet it appears."

Preceyis nodded, black pupils narrowing to slits in the violet pools. "Pray forgive me brother, but what will you do when you must leave to aid them? The men will find no quarrel with you should you persuade them, but your anxiety will weaken your standing with the woman, of which there are half."

"That is different, Preceyis. I have no choice but to do as such. And in any case, this is a more professional sort of endeavor I take."

Preceyis, not one to be outdone, went on speaking. "That's how it was at first with her so long ago. I remember you then, sir. It was professional at first as well, before feelings transpired. Also I know of what they meant to you. How they saved your life. As much as you are Dragon, Draconian, you have human roots."

Draconian looked at Preceyis in his purple eyes, red slowly starting to bleed into his gold irises. As fast as that, the red was replaced by a steely grey, and a sad smile played on Draconian's face. "I am glad you are honest with me Preceyis. But what I must do there is greater than my anxiety. If I must remain drunk half the time to function without my lack of social skills, then so be it."

Preceyis grinned, his wings brushing the trees. "Best hope they have their beer cellars stocked then."

Draconian laughed, a soft but deep sound like a dog quietly barking. It was a truly rare sound, as Draconian never laughed. "Indeed. But if I must be a drunken fool to save the world, then I shall play that part to the best of my ability. My disdain of alcohol is not at all a priority to what happens there."

"When do you leave?" Asked Preceyis.

"A year perhaps. After that it will be many years in their world, a month in ours, due to the effects of time dilation."

Preceyis nodded once more. "Will you bring some of us with you?"

Draconian thought about it. "Not directly with me, no. But I may summon you via letters fitted with my trace so as to directly find me."

"Tis a good idea." Said Preceyis.

"And what will you do while I'm away?"

Preceyis turned his head to the sky, where the sun had begun to set, the moons rising in the sky. One was a pale, ethereal blue, the other a deep purple scarred with silver streaks. "Explore still." He said. "There are a good many things that await the galaxy Dragons in the reaches of the unknown. I would see some of them."

"Strength to you, brother." Said Draconian. He bowed to Preceyis, rising with a slight smile. "Perhaps, when you return the next time, I will be more inclined to tell you of her."

Preceyis bowed as well, his front claws digging in the soft forest floor as he did so. "Strength to you as well, brother. And if I come back to find her head over heels for you and you still not knowing, I'm going to kick your ass." Preceyis laughed, a lurching roar with the sound of fire crackling.

Draconian smiled, watching the Dragon seemingly elongate into a spear of light streaked with blue black until he disappeared into the heavens.

…..

The memory remained with Draconian still, as well as the other memories of his past. Before leaving he had endeavored to search for the way to enter their world, searching in many different cultures with many different methods. While the cultures knew it theoretically could be done, none had actually done so. Draconian had conversed with many a scholar and many a cutthroat and mage about traveling to different worlds. They had sources, but many scholars had pointed him to mages they had somehow survived encounters with, and they had just tried to kill Draconian.

Eventually, Draconian had found the answer in the city he hoped to avoid. Just as Draconian had said to Preceyis, his Dragons had found the one he both admired and feared. Draconian hated those emotions. His Dragons could fend for themselves, and his Dragons had carried an ability from the past two worlds that ended any worry Draconian had for them. If they died, they resurrected,

Draconian was not sure how the system worked, but within a decade, the Dragons came back, with all their memories and time and place of death. After that they generally showed up at whatever had killed them, whether it be barbarians, mages, necromancers, undead, or vampires, and laid waste to them as well as what was within the next five miles.

But Draconian knew there was one he had feelings for. One who had carried over from the first world. They had no recollection of it. No one, besides Draconian and his Dragons, did. But it was her, Draconian knew. It was more than just physically she was the same, but the soul. Draconian knew this when one of his family approached him.

Her name was Midjorvyt, a beautiful midnight blue Dragon with red eyes and a great expanse of wings. Her posture was regal of bearing, and she was more elegant that any cat. "Sir." She said, so long ago.

Draconian, who was watching the sun rise through a storm that morning, turned and smiled at her approach. "Midjorvyt." He said quietly, happiness and peace in his tone. "What need you, sister?"

Midjorvyt, her red eyes often mysterious and enigmatic, looked directly at Draconian. "Sir. I have found her."

Draconian, knowing immediately what she meant, lowered his head, his eyes misting from gold to dark lapis blue. "I knew it. However much I wished to never acknowledge it, I knew one day I would have to confront it." He looked back up, his eyes sad and full of dread. "Where, my sister?"

"The city of Sterias. The first one we saw upon the new world's birth."

"It would be there." Said Draconian bitterly. "Fine. Let's get this over with." He climbed on her back, her midnight wings like a stain of ink dye on the air as she flew to the city of Sterias.

Draconian remembered the city as being an entirely medieval build, its architecture high and soaring, carved into the rock of the mountains that surrounded it. In its shadow lay a sprawling village that melded into the castle and churches, shops built high and taverns scattered plentifully around the city.

Midjorvyt landed and changed into her human form, a young girl with midnight blue robes and eerie red eyes with strange white blond hair, in sharp contrast to her robes and eyes. They walked into the city together, MIdjorvyt grasping his arm as a daughter would a father. In truth, they both knew that this was just for show. Midjorvyt would tear out the throat of any who accosted her, their last sight that of red, glowing eyes.

She led him through the city, near the back where a bazaar lay spread out, merchants hawking their wares in a myriad of languages. Midjorvyt sat on a bench, Draconian scanning the crowd.

"Please, Draconian. Sit. You look like a mother who lost her child and can't decide whether she should break down til someone helps her or go screaming through the city for her child."

"Midjorvyt, I must-"

"Sit." She commanded softly, her tone brooking no room for argument. Draconian grumbled and cursed, cuckolded by the Dragon turned child. She closed her eyes, lacing her fingers and leaning back. "You are no use to anyone as an emotional wreck, and we know of your troubles with pretty women in general. It would be best if you let me think on it."

Draconian sat back, rigid as a piece of plywood. MIdjorvyt smiled. "Better, but not completely."

"You knew this would happen." Grumbled Draconian.

Midjorvyt shrugged. "Perhaps, but you won't learn by not being out and about. Isolation is indeed becoming of you Draconian, but that doesn't mean it's healthy for you. If you could, you would spend all your time on a riverbank or in a tree. But you are still human to a bare extent, and I think that being around them reminds you of the better parts of the past."

"First Preceyis and now you." Said Draconian, glowering at the ground in a surly fashion. "I care not to be reminded of the past. I am only interested in the now, and the future."

Midjorvyt tsked. "Draconian, I… we… love you dearly. But some of your habits are self destructive. This anxiety for example. You could woo any woman you wish should you but speak to them." She smiled, her rosebud shaped lips curling upward.

…...

The memories shattered like glass, and Draconian returned to the present. Before him, about five miles away, rose several old buildings on the outskirts of a gleaming city. "Cairo." Said Draconian. He shook his head, glancing at the sky, where the sun hung three quarters of the way through the sky. Draconian cursed himself. "Damn it." He had been so immersed in memory he had lost all sense of place and time while his body wandered.

Shaking his head, he kept walking, soft leather shoes still spotless and gleaming despite having wandered for days through the desert. In no hurry he kept walking, dreading the interaction he could not avoid.

The sounds of a restless city folded over Draconian, making him long for a forest, with naught but the rustle of leaves and flowing water soothing him. He hit the sand carved buildings as the sun was on the horizon, the red edge of its halo bathing the sands and buildings in a luster of red gold.

Eventually, the streets, their cracked and weeded surface gave way to glass smooth pavement fitted with blue rails upon which cars glided, the buildings becoming taller and more graceful while the moon shone in the sky.

Draconian, surveying his surroundings on the sidewalk while cars zoomed past, started thinking of what to do. The Omnic Crisis was in full swing still, so… he reasoned it was reasonable to assume she was on the front lines. Nodding to himself, he started asking for directions from passerby for a way to a military base.

Eventually, on the fifth time asking he found an old veteran with a silvery beard and old brown eyes who pointed him north, close to where the Nile came to the Suez Canal, where Omnics fought for the trade routes it offered. Apparently, mused Draconian, they knew of human trade and war patterns, knowing what to take and for what reasons.

He started walking, not necessarily caring it would likely be midnight when he arrived. Instead he simply walked, his head bowed and hoping that Draconian could change the future for the better. He feared for it and what would come if Draconian failed. Draconian, once flamboyant but falsely confident in life, never had high expectations of himself. Instead he chose to lose himself in worlds like these, where he didn't even know his mortality. "Perhaps I'll fucking respawn if I die." Whispered Draconian.

The city became quieter and more sparse until it gave way to a collection of dilapidated hotels and bars once more, the sand crunching under Draconian like snow. To his right, a few miles away and barely audible due to Draconian's augmented hearing, flowed the Nile. Beneath the sound of water he heard a fainter sound. Laughter and the crackling of a fire and music.

Draconian kept walking, a collection of men coming into view, a assembly of old crumbling buildings and vehicles blasting radio music. Draconian walked up to them, his eyes changing to brown and his suit smoothing out the rumples. His face seemed to age forty years in two seconds, a silvery beard growing where there was once light brown stubble, his hair becoming streaked with silver.

Draconian walked up to the men, shirtless and sitting around a fire to stave off the cold night air. They spoke in a tongue Draconian assumed was Arabic, and so Draconian spoke to them in it. "'Ayn hu qayiduk?"

They turned to see the seemingly old man stumble toward them, holding himself regally. There was no response from the men, instead just staring. Draconian sighed. "Would English work just as well as Arabic?"

One of the men, a burly man with close cropped blond hair, stood up. "Yeah, English is fine." He looked at the old man for a brief second. "We were just having a laugh about some of our commanders. I'm sorry, but we didn't expect to see an Arab here. This is a joint base between the U.S and Egypt, as well as Israel, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. We're separated by nationality."

Draconian nodded. "Pray forgive me gentlemen, but I am looking for one of your snipers. I have a request from the Egyptian government."

One man raised his hand. "I'm a sniper. You need me?"

Draconian shook his head. "No, I'm looking for a specific sniper. Captain Ana Amari."

A heavy silence filled the air between them. " _The_ sniper? You're looking for her?"

"Yes."

The men laughed, the burly blond one chuckling. "Good luck dude. Your government has her running missions sun up to sun down. She barely has time to eat. She's out killing Omnics ten miles that way."

Draconian raised an eyebrow. "Back lines yes?"

"Where else would you find a sniper?"

Draconian nodded. "Thank you, gentlemen. That's all I needed to know. Now, one more request." The blond raised his eyebrow. "I need you to drive me to the war zone."

The men looked at him as if he'd just asked them to arm wrestle an Omnic whose gun was fully loaded. "Uh, dude. You might not have noticed, but it's a fucking mess over there. You wouldn't last five minutes over-"

Draconian raised his hand, cutting him off. "I know perfectly well what the situation is." Draconian had heard the booms of explosions and gunfire from Cairo, smelled the smoke in the desert, and saw the flames from the edge of the city. "And I need a ride. That or I can just borrow a Jeep and make my own way there."

"Dude, you can't-"

"Going once."

"It's suicide to think that-"

"Going twice. I'm telling you guys, I'll come back, and so will you. But if I come back and you don't follow me, what will your commander say when he takes it out of your ass for putting a representative of Egyptian government in danger?"

"Old man, seriously-"

"Trust me, sonny, I'm younger than I look and I have more experience than all of you. Going…"

Something in his eyes must've sold them. "Alright, alright! We'll do it. But old man, I'm telling ya…"

Draconian smiled. "Sold, to the man in no shirt!" He said. "Get your shit and let's go. We leave in five."

…

Ten minutes later the men were idling down sand dunes and embankments, Draconian humming to himself merrily. In the front of his mind sang a cheery tune, along the lines of, _That was too much alcohol._ In the back of his mind, separate and distinct, hummed the same thought in a more depressing melody, _I hope that was enough alcohol._

Draconian, while he detested alcohol, would need it to converse with Ana. He wouldn't have been able to speak otherwise, for fear of saying the wrong thing to a woman.

"Guys." Spoke the sniper, who was named Garth Danson. "I got a bad feeling about this."

Draconian, drunk off his ass with a keg and two six packs of beer he had found while waiting for the four soldiers to prepare, had consumed it all, his body augmented so that it was quite a heavy buzz. "Nonsense!" Spoke Draconian. "I assure you, lads, you're quite safe! I didn't learn to summon swords and wards for nothing you know."

"What the hell's he sayi-"

"LOOK OUT!"

The yell came from Brandon Morris, the demolitions expert of the group, riding topside. From the hill came a resounding boom and a ball of fire, crashing down near the Jeep and pelting it with steel. Draconian heard a pop, watching black pieces of rubber fly, and the vehicle skidding wildly in the sand.

He was thrown against the side, hitting it so hard he dented the metal. He shook his head, none the worse for wear, as the Jeep slid in the sand, coming to a stop at the edge of a dune.

Draconian kicked the door, tearing it off its hinges. The other men were still in the Jeep, shellshocked but otherwise okay. "Fucking Omnics!" Yelled Draconian, the alcohol still in his system. The men began to stir, looking up in shock.

Draconian looked around, spotting his adversaries slowly trudge down a sand dune. A group of three of four Bastion units. "Fuck." He swore. He turned to the men before the Omnics spotted them. "Alright lads, let's go, sharpish now, unless you like spitting lead." The men piled out, staggering behind the Jeep. They clutched their guns, checking their reserve and equipment.

"How many?" Asked the blond, whose name was Clark Ericson.

"Four." Said Draconian.

Clark cursed. "Shit! One we can take, and two if we're lucky, but we can't focus fire all four! We'd need fucking cannons to put a dent in their armor."

Draconian smiled. "Say that again."

The sergeant glared at him. "I said we'd need fucking titanium to even put a dent in their armor! All we have is lead hollow points."

Draconian waved his hand, a blue light enveloping the guns. The men dropped them, yelling in surprise. Draconian smiled wider. "There. Now take aim and watch the fireworks."

The men glanced doubtfully at him. "Old man, what-"

Draconian sighed, shedding the image of the old Arab, his suit becoming wrinkled once more. He picked up a gun, amused at the men's gapes. He aimed nonchalantly, pegging an Omnic in the head at three hundred meters, it's head a mess of wires and silicon chips. He handed it back to Clark. "Any more questions you want to ask?"

The men aimed, the next second full of the crack of rifles. The next Draconian heard several muffled thumps, watching Bastion units that now resembled Swiss cheese topple in the sand.

The men lowered their guns, their eyes full of questions. "Trust me lads." Said Draconian, walking over to the Jeep and laying a hand on the remnants of a tire. "It would take too long to explain. But I made myself a promise I would get you to your families." From the sand rose the black scraps of rubber, attaching themselves to the wheel once again. Satisfied, Draconian kicked the tire, holding solidly.

The men looked at him as if he were a demon. "Wha… What are you?"

Draconian bowed. "Admittedly, I don't know. But drunk is one of those things." He laughed, a deep, throatier roar than his laugh sober. "Now gentlemen, the sun will be up soon. I recommend you start driving before Omnics start arriving. I… have something to do." Draconian bowed once more, walking away with four bewildered men behind him.

As he ascended the crest of the next dune, he felt their gaze behind him. Turning he watched them pile in the Jeep, idling back to the base. Draconian smiled. They'd have a story for their future.

…..

The sun had risen by the time Draconian was close to the battle. Omnics, turreted and raining hell around the armed forces of multiple Middle Eastern countries, sat close by the huge artificial rivers of the canal. In large buildings left desolate by evacuations, the militaries rained down back on them, using windows as cover. Draconian, his keen eyesight picking out individual figures, scanned the buildings, knowing the outfit she would wear. A loose white robe with orange highlights to conceal her in desert sands.

Nothing. No flash of white or orange in the desert morning. Unperturbed, he turned his gaze to the sands behind the canal, a few miles to his right. The sands were piled high, half as high as the high rises upon which rested the Suez Canal. It also gave a good vantage point over the enemy. Draconian, unsteadily, lowered himself, looking for the distinct…

 _There!_ He thought. A flash of light in the desert, a hooded figure reloading a clip into a sniper rifle. Draconian surged forward, running fast to his target. Unfortunately for him, his drunkenness persisted, so in hindsight Draconian was not surprised when he tripped over his feet and rolled down the sand dune for a hundred meters.

"Ah, fuck, sand, shit, dammit, uhhhhhh…" Draconian stood up unsteadily again, spitting sand out his mouth, undeterred. climbing up the dune upon which Ana Amari perched. He heard the resounding metal thrums from her high powered sniper. He walked up to her, clearing his throat and smiling. He was glad as all hell he was drunk.

…

Ana flashed back to the memory of her wandering through the museum. She had been a child, no more than eight, her grandmother speaking in Arabic about the pieces of the past. Around her were crumbling bricks from pyramids, guns developed in times of conflict, strange machines and ancient parchments labeling the past.

Ana's attention was drawn to a rifle in the front of the room they were in. It's black metal was highly polished, its bolt closed and scope glinting like an evil eye. Ana was enraptured by its simple, long design. "Ah child." Said her grandmother. "That is what the Russians call a PTRS-41. It was a deadly weapon child, used against tanks during times of war." Ana thought it was beautiful.

She aimed down the scope for the thousandth time, her grandmother's words still prominent in her mind. She did not use a PTRS, but instead a modernized version, firing chunks of metal using a miniaturized railgun technology capable of hitting Mach 2 speeds. It was a sniper used for destroying vehicles, not humans. However, as the Omnics were built with armor as thick as a tank in the case of Bastions, the sniper served her well. Most modern era weaponry did nothing to a Bastion, save for a few prototypes developed by a leading weapons engineer, whose name Ana forgot.

She sighted, aimed, and fired again, watching an Omnic go from war machine to casualty of war in a heartbeat. On instinct, she turned to reload after assessing that her current clip was empty. She clicked the bolt back, ejecting a scrap of metal. She heard a polite cough behind her, immediately assuming it was a threat, on her feet and pistol leveled at… A young man, perhaps five to seven years younger than her. College age.

The man was an oddity at first glance. He wore a rumpled, old fashioned suit, his tie askew and long brown hair covered in sand as if he'd been rolling in it. Behind him flowed a cape which seemed to emit color and seemed multifunctional as both a cowl and cloak. He was handsome in a too lazy too busy to give a damn sort of way. It was suitable for him.

His mouth was quirked in a smile, his eyes a peculiar orange color and full of mirth. What she did not expect him to do was bow in a drunken fashion. "Greetings, Ana Amari!" He said. "Finally, I found you. And let me tell you, wandering through the desert for several days on end makes you one of the harder ones to find."

"What do you want?" Ana said angrily. "Who sent you? Are the Omnics hiring mercenaries now?"

Draconian raised his hands placatingly. "Not at all, madam. Rather, I am here to provide information on the Omnics' movements. As we speak, a detachment of Bastions are currently flanking the east side of your fortifications. They hope to target the structural integrity of the buildings your forces are stationed in, taking out whole swaths of your forces stationed there, both combatants and casualties."

Ana glared at him, her pistol never wavering. "Why should I believe you?" She growled, her gaze fierce and implacable. Draconian sighed, folding his hands behind his back, shuffling slowly back and forth,

"A fair question, and one I shall answer." He looked right at Ana, his orange eyes serious. "You shouldn't trust me. At the moment I have had to consume more alcohol than any human could just to speak with you. Sober, I seize up every time I am forced to talk to a woman due to chronic social anxiety and introvertedness, of which no amount of control can overcome. My eyes, which I discovered turn to orange after said consumption, are originally gold. Also I can summon swords and elements within my hands should I need weapons."

Ana looked at him like he was crazy, of which Draconian sounded after he further inflection. He stretched out his hand, a purple sword seemingly made of smoke in his hands, inscribed with black runes. "There." He said. "I can substantiate one claim. Now please, radio some scouts to validate the other."

Other than the initial shock of his conjuring a sword from thin air, her glare remained present, staring him down. Eyeing him closely, she reached for her radio. "Command. This is Sierra One. I'm getting reports of Omnic movement to the east, nothing solid. Send a detachment of scouts to confirm."

The pistol remained trained on Draconian until the reply came a moment later. "Copy, Sierra One. We have a UAV fitted with arms in case reports are confirmed."

"Copy, Command. Sierra One out."

She hung up the radio, eyeing him closely. "Now we wait until confirmation. If it's true, we'll have us a talk after today."

Draconian nodded, sinking to the ground and pulling out a harp strapped to his back underneath his cloak. Its material was that of wood, except it was pure white, the grain black as pitch. He began to strum, Ana focused on him. He played without regard to her watching, the notes haunting and pure.

A half hour passed before the radio came back in. "Sierra One, this is Command. Thermal shows hostile Bastions a half click to your east, closing fast. We can manage one strafing run and take out most, but two or three are out of firing range. You'll have to deal with those."

Ana nodded, her sniper reloaded. Draconian strung his harp again, smiling as his orange eyes crinkled with a smile. "A little conflict. Good."

Ana looked at him, radioing back to Command. "Copy, Command, this is Sierra One engaging hostile Bastion units. Out."

She looked at Draconian, a bit of her hostility gone. "Huh. I'll be damned. You were right. How'd you-"

"No time." Interjected Draconian. He stood up, scanning the slope as three silhouettes crossed over the ridge in the afternoon sun. "Bastions." He rushed forward, sand flying from behind him as a purple sword emerged into his grasp. Ana, laying down as she cocked back the bolt of her sniper, sighted in on the Bastions.

They abruptly stood up in recon form, tank forms collapsing into blocky humanoid figures. They fired on him, their bullets missing his dancing, lithe form. Ana shot, blowing the head off one Bastion. Draconian slashed at the other two, the sword cutting deep into metal as he impaled one, electricity forming in his hand to strike at the second, which collapsed. So fierce and fast was his fight that sand around him turned into a screen that obscured Ana's sights.

The Bastions were dead, the remaining behind the three scattered debris from the strafing run.

Ana sprinted over to Draconian, her robes flapping. The smoke cleared, revealing Draconian kneeling in the sand, his head bowed as the smoke cleared.

"Young man!" Shouted Ana. "Are you okay?" She assumed from his position he had been shot, clutching his stomach.

She walked up to him, and he turned to her, his eyes no longer a merry orange, but gold. Gold, and wide eyed with fear.

She gasped. She assumed he had been making up an elaborate excuse.

Draconian swept his feet out from under her, turning tail and running into the desert as the sounds of war receded in the distance. His heart was in his throat, and fear, irrational and paralyzing, had struck him, the drunkenness worn off.

"Wait!" Cried Ana, watching as the receding figure disappeared into the sands.

…

 _In the future…_

"You're full of crap, grandpa. No guy can just summon swords and turn weapons into Omnic killing machines."

The old man smiled, his short cropped blond hair turned white. "I'm not kidding, guys. He summoned a sword, looked like an old man, and turned into a youth before our very eyes. He saved our lives, fixing our Jeep and giving us the firepower needed."

The children laughed, their young faces joyful. "Right, grandpa. Next you'll say dragons exist!"

The old man smiled. He hardly believed it himself.


	4. The First Symbol

_Author's Note:_ Greetings all! Chapter 4 is here, and with it, King's Row Uprising! Guess who'll be grinding that shit out this weekend? You guessed it. The wishlist is comprised of Tracer's skin, Blackwatch Genji, and Blackwatch McCree. Oh. Plus the new and Zenyatta highlights. :D Anyway, I wanted to publish this next chapter real quick, and wish you all luck for King's Row Uprising! Bell rang again, so I gotta go. Wish me luck, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. And I will cover King's Row Uprising when we reach it a long ways from now. :)

The First Symbol

Draconian sat at the table eating a scone and drinking milk, his movements calm and peaceful, eyes closed for once in his life. He sighed. "Wonderful." The sun shone brightly in the midst of summer, warming Draconian at the cafe he sat at in Stockholm. The fifth of his number he managed to schedule a meeting for, having intercepted a courier on his way to the fifth of the original Overwatch members. The courier was fine, if likely having a headache after Draconian's fist connected with his temple, and perhaps confused as to being in an alley he should not have been in. He would accomplish his mission, albeit in an indirect way.

He chuckled at the memory of his meeting with who the letter had been intended for. "Vem fan är du?!" The voice was angry, and Draconian saw nothing move in front of the peephole he wouldn't have seen had his vision been that of a regular human. The door itself was set in an alleyway, under a wooden door like that of a basement, down several cramped flight of stairs, and set in the stone beneath a tavern. The door itself was built like a vault, reinforced steel with levers and a wheel sealed tight. Draconian put his ear up to it, hearing muffled sounds of clanging and swearing inside.

He knocked. "Torbjörn Lindholm." Said Draconian, his voice calm and void of emotion. "I am John Marcosi, a representative of the United Nations, and here on their behalf. I have questions for you, as well as a proposition." Silence on the other side of the door. Draconian looked at the envelope in his hand, emblazoned with the symbol which the world would not forget. A circle with two points in the middle, the top segment of the circle disconnected from the rest, the two points creating a thin line in the center of the circle. The top segment was bright gold, and Draconian was aware of the fact he held one of the first pieces that Overwatch would begin as.

"Torbjörn Lindholm." Said Draconian again. More silence. "Torbjörn!" No response. Draconian growled softly. He knew the man was extremely short tempered. But his skill was unsurpassed in weapons manufacturing. The man also knew the Omnics inside and out. He had, after all, been responsible for their creation. And he was central to Overwatch weapon development and leadership. He'd go on to create Ana's biotic rifle and prototype the Heavy Pulse Rifle, which Jack would eventually steal. But not if he didn't get his ass out here and sign the damn paper.

Draconian, who prided himself on patience, reluctantly acknowledged that Torbjörn wouldn't sign without a forceful entry. Draconian would have to prove his mettle. So prove it he would. He breathed in deeply, ready to kick the door in. His foot lashed out, denting the steel plate. Draconian stopped, taking another breath, and kicked the door in again, his foot getting stuck in the metal. He pried it loose, assessing the damage.

The door was a whole foot caved in at its center, the levers bent like straws and the wheel snapped mostly off. Draconian nodded. "Third time's the charm." He savagely kicked it again, the door flying down a dark hallway, the clanging sound louder and more defined. He stepped inside the hallway, dark and unlit, and as far as he could tell, stone. His eyes picked out the details, or lack thereof, for the stone tunnel was smooth and flawless to his keen eyesight in the dark.

Impressed at how straight and uniform it was, he continued walking down, the metal growing louder and louder. Draconian smiled to himself. _Fucking dwarves._ He thought to himself. The Ironclad Guild was a bunch of dwarves. Not easy to find, granted, but still, working underground as world class blacksmiths likened them to dwarves.

He kept walking down, emerging into a huge open chamber that looked like the mother of all forges and foundries. Steel trolleys and lifts with levers deposited molten magma into huge forges a wide across as a trampoline, bellows and tongs and various other instruments such as gradients and hammers and anvils lying scattered. Draconian, whose world had never progressed past medieval times and progression in technological advancement, had spent many a time in a forge, seeing more swords of build and make than anyone.

Ringing the foundry were several levels of progressing technology, from more forges to prototyped telescopes to satellites, computers, Thompson submachine guns and HAM radios. Further up became what appeared to be prototyped cell phones, box TV's, and CD players. The levels progressed further, becoming more crystalline and glass until the only thing up on the floors was a mess of glass circles, squares, and wiring. In all, there were about seven levels of different eras of technology, all congregated around several massive forges. Below Draconian, seven levels down, several men of build and height worked on robotic chassis and circuitry.

"Hey!" A voice from behind Draconian shouted. He turned calmly to the voice, an angry looking man with flyaway blond hair and a rail thin figure glaring at him and holding some sort of gun device. He aimed it at Draconian, who looked at him calmly. "What do you think you're doing in here?!"

Draconian answered calmly. "I am looking for a one Torbjörn Lindholm. I am here on the behalf of the United Nations, and have a proposal for him."

"Torbjörn already has a place with the Ironclad Guild!" Snarled the man. "We don't need the likes of outsiders interfering! Our technology belongs to nobody but us!"

Draconian raised an eyebrow, outwardly calm but annoyed at this Swedish prick. "Ah. So you foist upon the world robotic slaves that decide they want freedom, go on a massive killing spree across the globe, and then don't decide to clean up your mess?"

The man's eyes bugged, a look of pure rage as he started to stammer, spittle flying from his mouth in rage. He raised his gun, Draconian's hand placed behind his back filling with an icy vapor.

"What is going on here?" Said another voice. They turned to see a handsome older gentleman walking forward calmly, holding a cane made of cedar (which Draconian could smell due to its pungent, sharp odor), with clear blue eyes and a salt and pepper beard. His head was bald, and he wore a lab coat on top of casual clothing composed of a simple gray T-shirt and jeans.

The man who confronted Draconian spoke first. "This man is an intruder, sir!" Snarled the Ironclad member. "He broke in through one of our entrances and is here to steal technology of ours!"

"Is that so, Sven?" He glanced at the Swede, looking fairly bored. He then turned his gaze on Draconian. "And what is your story, good sir? Thieves do not usually dress so well… Or so old fashioned." His eyes twinkled merrily at this.

Draconian bowed. "I am John Marcosi, a representative of the United Nations. I am here on their behalf to look for Torbjörn Lindholm." He carefully removed the dossier from his suit jacket, handing it to the man who had intervened.

The man nodded as he looked at the files. "I see." He put the papers back in the dossier, looking at Draconian. He turned back to Sven. "Sven, go fetch me Torbjörn and a few pastries please."

Sven's eyes nearly bugged out of his head again. "But sir-"

The man's clear eyed gaze shut down Sven's argument. "Now, Sven."

Sven glared at Draconian, moving off into the Ironclad Guild's base of operations. The solidly built man watched him walk away. "My apologies for that."

Draconian turned to him after watching Sven's figure recede. "Are all Swedes this grumpy?"

The man laughed. "Forgive them. Our senior members have been with us since they were young, impressionable youth. They take their craft seriously, and have been doing so since their early twenties." He smiled, holding out his hand. "I am Arleif Arnson, leader of the Ironclad Guild since the last leader passed ten years ago. Come with me, and I shall acquaint you and bring you Torbjörn."

…...

Draconian sat in his office, full of knick knacks ranging from simple things such as polished stones to weaponry, lever action rifles and Springfields, to a bronze astrolabe and mirrors, steadily progressing in technology until the strangest objects were squares and shards of glass and wiring. The office itself was bathed in a light blue light emitting from the floor. Arleif sat at the desk, carefully picking up a large stack of paper and laying it to the side. "Pray forgive the mess, sir." He said. "I am so rarely in here that I barely have time to clean up after myself."

"No worries." Said Draconian good naturedly. "My desk back home is also filled with many a worry and task to set to. This is simply done to get away from it all."

Arleif smiled. "Where are you from son?"

Draconian's gaze became glassy with memory. "A long way from here sir. A place much like this one, but a bit more old fashioned."

"Is it a good place?"

"The best. My family is expansive and often frustrating, but they took me in in time of duress and have given me hope when there was none. My home is old, almost archaic, and often mysterious, with many a river and forest and few humans about. But solitude is my preferred social life."

"No girl to boast about?" Chuckled Arleif.

Draconian shook his head. "I am too old and too nervous around women to even speak with them. And sometimes too busy." He wrenched his thoughts away from her, her smile fading from his mind.

"Too old? Lad, you barely look to be able to drink!"

"I am older than I look." Said Draconian.

Arleif shrugged and smiled wider. "Suit yourself. Ah, I digress, lad. Let's get down to business. So, old Torbie yes?" Draconian nodded. "Why so?"

"Torbjorn Lindholm is responsible for most, if not all, of the Omnics' creation and the programming behind the God Programs that have gone rogue. If anyone is able to discern precisely why the Omnics are revolting, and what can be done to stop it, it is he. He is also one of your best engineers and combatants for the Ironclad Guild, and so would have a place where he can apply his craft and join the fight. In Overwatch."

Arleif raised an eyebrow. "Overwatch?"

"An elite international task force so far comprised of four members. Ana Amari, Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison, and Reinhardt Wilhelm. After Torbjorn there is one more to add to the task force. Overwatch's mission is to combat the Omnic Crisis in the most desperate of places, and to establish peace in its wake."

Arleif sat back in his chair. "Sounds ambitious for just one task force."

"Many have said the same thing, though I have hope for Overwatch."

"Why so, son?" Asked Arleif.

"Call it a gut feeling." Said Draconian.

Arleif nodded, reaching out with his right hand. A button clicked on an announcer, and Arleif's voice echoed overhead. "Torbjörn Lindholm, please report to Guildmaster Arleif."

Arleif turned back to Draconian. "So, Mr. Marcosi, tell me more of yourself. You say you're older than you look, and I can believe it. Your body is that of an athlete, but your eyes are that of a sage. Full of wisdom, power… and sadness. What caused you to leave home?"

Draconian was silent. "Necessity." He replied curtly. "I did not leave because of my family, but because I had to accomplish something here. And also to do some soul searching."

Arleif raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Draconian shrugged. "I myself am not sure. I do not desire earthly wants, and few emotional ones. Perhaps I'd just like to see something more of humanity before my time."

"You sound as if you're going to die, lad."

Draconian smiled. "No. I am old, yes, but I am not so old as to seek death yet. I have my family to return to, when my true task is complete."

Arleif opened his mouth to say something more, when a knock sounded on the oak door of Arleif's office. "Come in." He called.

Torbjörn Lindholm entered the office, a short, heavy browed man with four feet, seven inches of height and six feet of surly disposition. His blond beard went down to his barrel shaped chest, braided in a Viking fashion. Draconian was interested to see he still had his left arm attached, as opppsed to his prosthetic. His personal forge was also off, making him seem even more diminutive in stature. "What do ya want, Arleif? I'm busy working on my rivet gun and my new design of turret."

Arleif gestured to Draconian. "Torbjörn, this is John Marcosi, of the United Nations. He is here to ask you some questions."

Torbjörn glowered at him. "I already told ya! I can't find out why the damned machines are fighting! If I had, donchya think I would've stopped it by now? And don't even get me started on the God Programs! It'd be nothing short of suicide to get close to an omnium, much less the Program mainframe!"

Draconian blinked. "That's not what this is about, Torbjörn."

Torbjörn scooped at him. "No?! I suppose ya want my weapons then! Why? So ya can build more deadly machines to wreak havoc for ya? Well you can't have 'em!"

Arleif sighed. "Torbjörn…"

"I already told ya!" Yelled Torbjörn, throwing his hands up in exaggeration. "Not a damn thing!"

Draconian spoke up, his voice soft and etched in anger. "You were the one who programmed the Omnics. Do you not feel responsible for the destruction you helped cause?"

"OHO!" Shouted Torbjörn. "Looks like this one's got a tongue on him!"

"Answer the question Torbjorn." said Arleif softly.

Torbjorn lowered his fiery blue gaze, looking down. "You do feel guilty." Said Draconian. It was not poised as a question.

Torbjorn did not answer, instead glowering at the ground. "What do you want?" He said finally, glaring at Draconian.

Draconian turned to Arleif. "May we have some privacy?" He nodded, rising from his desk and walking out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "Torbjorn Lindholm. You were a difficult one to find, you and your guild. I am John Marcosi, as you have heard, and I'm here to settle your score with the Omnics and do some good."

"Get to the point." Said Torbjorn irritably.

Draconian nodded, pulling out the sheets of paper upon which was emblazoned the Overwatch symbol. "In the wake of the Omnic Crisis and the shortsightedness of the world's military powers, the United Nations has decided to assemble a team of scientists and soldiers to combat the Omnics. You were one of the six on this list, along with bioenhanced soldiers Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison, world's greatest sniper Ana Amari, and former Crusader Reinhardt Wilhelm. Another is to be asked to join the ranks after you, a man known only to me so far as Liao. You are one of the greatest engineers in the Ironclad Guild, and one of its best combatants. It is for these reasons that you are chosen to join the world's most elite international task force." He slid the paper toward Torbjorn. "All you need do is sign." He handed him a pen.

Torbjorn gripped the pen so tightly his knuckles turned white, the slim metal bending under his tight fingered grasp. "And if I don't sign?"

Draconian smiled inwardly to himself. For all of Torbjorn's prickly manner, he had a soft spot. "Then you may live with the knowledge that the innocents you put in danger were saved as you sat around building turrets that collected dust. Or should Overwatch fail, which I strongly believe it will not, you can live with the knowledge you sat around while people were murdered by your programming."

Torbjorn glowered at Draconian even more fiercely under his bushy blond eyebrows. He then signed the signature, a small thrill singing through Draconian as he watched him sign. He then slid the paper back into the folder. Draconian stood abruptly. "Thank you Torbjorn. If you would be so kind, meet me at Cafe Pascal, where I will fill you in on the remaining details, including establishment, protocols, and where you will live. Pack what you need. It may be a while before you return."

Draconian walked out, nodding at Arleif and shaking his hand. "Thank you for your assistance with Sven. Torbjorn has agreed to join Overwatch. And now, I must leave to complete the rest of my task. Farewell, Arleif Arnson."

Arleif grasped his hand in a Roman handshake, pulling him close. "Whatever her name is, lad, I wish you the best of luck with her." Draconian, unnerved at how close his mark hit, only nodded tersely, leaving the base and its dim confines behind him.

…

Draconian watched as Torbjorn sidled up to the table, swearing and cursing in Swedish. "Thank you for meeting me here, Torbjorn. Scone?" He slid the plate toward him.

Torbjorn waved it away from him. "I'm not one of your fancy Brits! I came here for information, not small talk. Now, where am I going and what am I doing?"

Draconian brought out the envelope which held the dossier. He pulled out a plane ticket, pushing it towards Torbjorn. "As to what you are doing, I cannot say. That is for my superiors to decide. But as to where you are going, you are going to Washington D.C to be conducted into Overwatch for an oral confirmation. It is also where your base is for the time being. You will have all the necessary armaments and tools to keep creating weapons. Or so I'm told."

Torbjorn grunted. "Yeah, yeah. And the other people?"

"Gabriel Reyes, born in Los Angeles, large of build and dark of skin, humor, and attire. Likes his shotguns as much as he likes women. Except women don't complain. Moving on, Jack Morrison, born in Bloomington, Indiana, essentially Aryan race, as you people call it, true American, fighting for his country. Uses a standard assault rifle, plays by the book. Ana Amari, world's greatest sniper, real quiet. Hardly makes a sound and can hit squirrel in the eye from a mile away. Reinhardt Wilhelm, real jolly fellow. Like Santa Claus, except Santa could never be so buff. Or tall."

Torbjorn's lips twitched in smile. "Alright, you've made your point. So, go to Washington D.C and get sworn in. That it?"

"Essentially yes."

Torbjorn frowned. "Wait… that's it?" Draconian nodded. "Well then, what am I doing here?! Why didn't you just tell me back in the guild?"

"Because I have a message from me to Overwatch itself. All of Overwatch." Draconian blinked, his eyes going from brown to radiant gold. Torbjorn gasped, lurching backward in his chair. Draconian held out his hand as his cape flowed from his shoulders, its lines of liquid color bleeding from its seams. In his hand shimmered the deep purple sword, its image smoky and swirling in his grasp. The small audience in the cafe looked on in fear and awe.

Torbjorn's eyes almost bulged from his pockets. "You- you-"

"I am much more than I appear, Torbjorn Lindholm. And from me to Overwatch, I say to them and you that Dragons aid their effort. My wings and claws strike at your enemies. Make no mistake, however. I am your ally, not your father to constantly and always protect you. Keep that in mind, Overwatch, and you shall meet me, one day." Draconian stood up, the sword fading immediately. He walked out, leaving several Swedish Krona on the table.

Torbjorn, overcoming his shock and running outside after Draconian shouted at him. "Hey! You can't just-" His voice was lost in a rushing of wind as he watched the figure of Draconian recede, the glowing lines of color on his cape washed away as mist rushed in from the streets of Stockholm. As fast as that it dispersed, and the mysterious man was gone. Frustrated, Torbjorn returned to the cafe, stealing a scone from Draconian's plate, and grabbing the plane ticket.

The small, runty man walked down the cobblestone streets of Stockholm, his feet carrying him to the Stockholm Bromma Airport. An hour later, the clouds rushed under him as he watched the city recede.


	5. Knowledge Is Power

_Author's_ Note: Hello again, everyone. T'is Draconian again, and here I am after a societally obscene amount of Overwatch and grinding a literal fuckton of the Uprising Event during Spring Break during my school. Literally the only thing's I'm missing are a Torb skin, Orisa skin, Bastion skin, and Zenyatta's highlight intro. Also did some stuff during school and just want this goddamn school year to end already. Anyway, been changing up my writing style a bit, and now that Overwatch has been finally established for the first time, it's time for some plot building and character adding throughout Overwatch. I have some plans for Liao as well, and my inspiration for her was the Overwatch First Strike comic cover. There's a character on there that shares the same features of Liao in the story. Problem is we don't know who the actual character is or what she did, so here's my little interpretation of who Liao _could_ have been and what she did. Anyway guys, enjoy the changes, and the darkness coloring Draconian's past. ;)

Knowledge is Power

The sounds of the congested streets irritated Draconian, his sensitive hearing picking up on all the conversation. Cars rushed past, horns honking for seemingly no reason, and the throng of the city pressed in on him. He pined for his forests, the smell of purity and sound of silence a nourishing feeling. Of water rushing by, the whisper of leaves, the caress of the wind better than any girlfriend… Not that Draconian would know. The only caresses he had felt were those of the wind and water and sun.

Draconian got up from his computer at the internet cafe, shaking his head as he stood up and trying to clear his mind. He walked down the street, ignorant of the teeming masses and completely missing the looks of the women aimed at the handsome, seemingly college aged enigma in a rumpled suit. _Where oh where would I find him?_ Thought Draconian. The last original member of the Overwatch team was yet to be found, and Draconian had missed his chance to take the place of the official he was looking for. Indeed, he had run from the Pentagon's briefing room looking for the official only to see his plane take off. Impatient and rushed, Draconian hitched a ride on the next plane to Beijing by hiding in the wheel well, uncomfortable but on his way.

 _You are not an easy one to find, Liao._ Thought Draconian as he wandered the streets of Beijing, the glass from the skyscrapers twinkling like jewels in the heights of the great city. He wandered down an alley, reading the papers he had printed out on what he could find of Liao, which was almost nothing. It was, apparently, a common surname in China, which meant there were a good many people with that name, as well as shops and stores upon which also had the name.

The other problem Draconian encountered was that he had next to no knowledge of Liao. He knew he joined Overwatch's first and original strike team for so far unknown reasons, and that his surname was Chinese. He knew he was here in Beijing, but that only narrowed it down to ten million people.

Draconian wandered aimlessly, not really caring where he wound up. His hand pressed in on his overcoat, where the crinkle of paper sounded. He had made the letters in his own handwriting, and after coming to a reasonable conclusion that only watching the members of Overwatch seemed rather creepy and almost stalker like, he made the letters to give them. The idea came to him after his message to Torbjörn, but was rather the same cryptic message. _The Dragons shall aid you._ Draconian knew they might mistake this for Genji and Hanzo, but all would be clear… in time.

Draconian was not exactly sure what instinct drove him, but he walked into a library centered in the middle of Beijing. He walked down its rows upon rows of books, happy to be in a place where art in literature and ideas and knowledge came to congregate. The smell of old parchment was missing from Draconian's library back home, a soothing, nostalgic scent. Draconian often left with a huddle of books under his arms, reading idly in the boughs of trees alone, or sometimes walking into taverns in his world, where the sound of people laughing and conversing merrily made a pleasant white noise with which to lose himself in fiction and nonfiction. Draconian even wrote his own papers, most of them being about Dragons and tales of them, though he never published them.

He stopped randomly at intervals, taking out books that showed promise, perusing through the first page and a half before stopping and returning it to its place on the shelf. Eventually, he reached the end of the aisle, sitting in a chair and removing his harp stationed on his back. He thumbed the strings softly, making sure the tunes were correct. The sounds of Beijing were muffled here.

The harp was as mysterious as Draconian himself, its origins long and storied. Once it had been a smooth, dark chestnut brown, but over time, Draconian noticed it start to turn white, becoming bleached of color as he kept it with him. It also became more and more impervious to damage, and when Draconian had to fight bandits who tried unsuccessfully to rob him in his world, he fixed the harp using magic should it have been broken. Eventually the harp was white as sun bleached bone, its grain as black as pitch against it. While it still felt like wood and looked as such, it was not. Draconian, one day, decided to put it to the test, attempting to break it over his knee. What happened instead was a string of curses from the man of Dragons. The other thing was that it was not only a harp, but whatever Draconian willed it to be. A trumpet, a saxophone, a clarinet, a trombone. Even a piano, if there was enough room and it was opportune. The only thing it could not be was a drum, as Draconian never tried.

Draconian remembered the first time he played it. A haunting peal of sound, cold and forlorn, followed by a strange lilting tune that caused the world to appear downcast and grey. His fingers had danced across the wires, a smooth thrum that permeated the air with music. As Draconian played more and the harp's abilities became more evident, another thing happened to it. Everytime he played, red embers flickered within the harp's grain, lending it a soft red glow like that of stained glass lit from behind like a candle. Draconian enjoyed it, and elected to keep the harp after a single week of it being in his possession.

The memories flowed through him as he sat playing, his eyes closed as the music filled the building in Beijing with otherworldly music. A voice shook him from his reverie, a soft female voice filled with admiration. "My, you are quite good with that." Draconian looked up, his heart beating fast from anxiety as he looked at his speaker. She was a young female, with strange white hair and hazel eyes, a short figure that wore a long white coat, and orange tinted glasses perched on an elegant nose.

Draconian cursed himself, not knowing he'd be confronted by a female and not being suitably drunk or otherwise disrupted in his mental state. _Fuck me._ Draconian swore inwardly. Not wanting to be rude, he said the only thing that came to mind. "ThanksIgotthisalongtimeagoandbeenpracticingsince!" He spoke the sentence in one breath and extremely fast.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Draconian swore inwardly again. _You stupid bastard. Look what you got yourself into._ Furious with himself, he directed his anger into forced calm, breathing slowly and looking at the girl in her eyes. "M-my apologies." He stuttered uneasily. "I cannot often… erm, speak… to females very well."

The girl smiled. "Social anxiety huh? Don't worry. I get that a lot too. Men." She scoffed. "Why can't you guys be more simple? Really, women get so much flack for being complicated. I think it's the guys who need to lighten up a little."

Draconian, clearly a guy despite his heritage and past, frowned. "I never said women were complicated."

The woman smiled again. "You didn't have to. It's in your eyes. You have an idea that women will judge you based on what you say and do. While it's true some may, a great many will not." She held out her hand. "My name is Xanthe. Xanthe Liao."

Draconian shook it quickly, his mind still forced inner calm. "Liao hmm? I am looking for a person named Liao."

"Good luck with that. It's a really common name. That's all you know of this person?"

Draconian nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Hmm. Why so? Why do you search for a person whose gender you don't even know?"

"Government sanctioned business. Liao is a person who is on the list for a special organization to combat the Omnic Crisis." Xanthe raised an eyebrow again. "A strike team, if you will." Said Draconian. Perspiration beaded on his brow, silently cussing to himself. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck..._

"Ah." Xanthe nodded. "Makes sense. Well, sir, I hope your search goes well." She bowed to him formally, walking away with an easy smile. Draconian watched her go, returning to the harp and silently angry with himself.

….

Xanthe chuckled to herself as she walked away, the music again echoing softly from the harp the strange man had. He looked outwardly quite young, but his eyes were old. Extremely old, almost as if he hailed from another age. Even his bearing seemed completely wrong, an imperious but sad air to him, and tinged with power and mysticism. She wanted to go back and ask him his name, but his bearing was also on edge, and downright fearful when she talked to him, his conversation seeming quite a task for him. Feeling sorry, she kept the conversation brief, and left him to his harp and thoughts. _Poor man._ Thought Xanthe sympathetically.

With an effort, she tore her mind away from the man, looking for the books she had come for. Textbooks, specifically. Ones about quantum mechanics, psychological effects, books with unsolved mysteries, even going so far and convoluted as to propose that the world was nothing but a simulation due to the fact that particle physics began to break down when observed closely enough. Or the Mandela Effect, the hypothesis that an event managed to leak through another universe, causing everyone to remember the event despite the fact it never happened.

Xanthe was no stranger to these sorts of phenomenon, and wished for nothing more than to study them her whole life, as well as become the doctor or computer scientist she so desperately wished to be. Currently Xanthe was developing a paper on whether artificial intelligence, or AI, could be coded so thoroughly as to mimic the human brain and perform the calculations a computer could do at the same time. She thought it was a bit conspiratorial for a college class, but she had confidence in her prodigal skills that she could make it a good one. For that was who Xanthe Liao was. A prodigy in the study of almost everything she took an interest in.

Satisfied with her selection of what were almost arcane subjects to the regular human, she checked out the books and walked out into the stifling noise and and bustle that was Beijing. She almost went back inside, for there it was quieter, not to mention soothing with the strange young man and his harp. She shook her head. _No. I have research to do._ She began walking home, a large amount of books heaped under her arm. A few streets and no small amount of noise later, she walked into her apartment, a small, cluttered with books space set in downtown Beijing. Xanthe was a genius in many aspects, but she was not a rich genius.

"Greetings Liao." Xanthe jumped, a small squeak of fear in her voice. Her books tumbled out of her hands, and where she usually sat was a portly, grey bearded man, his head bald and eyes a misty blue. Her wore a typical suit, a red tie prominent on his chest. He was tall, and most of his build did not seem all fat. The man eyed her calmly. "Please, sit Liao. I am not here to hurt you."

Xanthe, far from relaxed, looked at him fearfully. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house? I pay the rent and keep to myself. I haven't done anything I swear!"

The man looked surprised at her assumption. "Of course not." He said quickly. "My name is Hodge Dutchson, an agent of the American FBI. I am here to offer you a place in an organization to combat the ongoing Omnic Crisis. A strike team that is under the name of Overwatch."

Xanthe's mind immediately went to the young man she had met earlier, and how he had said the words this man had just said. "There was a man looking for a person named Liao earlier. He was a young man with a harp. He said the same things you said."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Where? This young man is wanted for questioning and a number of supposed inconsistencies in the hiring of the Overwatch members."

Liao, now thoroughly unnerved and frightened, stammered "I-Inconsistencies?"

The man took out a picture of a drawing similar to the young man's she had seen, except this portrait was a crime to his genteel bearing and calm, composed look. The portrait showed a slightly older man with stubble and a florid face, his hair combed back. The most striking feature was that the eyes, as opposed to being left black for the irises, were colored a bright, violent gold, as if they were glowing. But the young man she had seen was more streamlined in comparison to this photo, unable to capture the magisterial composure and age he showed, not to mention his eyes had been brown.

"This man," said Agent Dutchson, "has been spotted by the current Overwatch members of Ana Amari, Reinhardt Wilhelm, and Torbjörn Lindholm, described as having an almost ancient aura and bearing, with gold eyes, a glowing cape and rumpled suit, long brown hair messy more often than not. Apparently he can also summon swords, described as shimmering, jagged purple shapes by Torbjörn himself. We ran him through a psych ward, just in case. Also, during the escort of Jack Morrison to the Experimental Soldier Program, one agent who was supposed to be a part of said escort never showed up to work on time. Instead, he showed up five hours later, locked in a Porta-Potty with a huge headache and bruise. But get this. Apparently an agent _did_ show up. But his name was never documented, and he disappeared into thin air after talking with General Attus about the program, even wringing out the experimental name of Overwatch itself. During the Siege of Stuttgärt, this man showed up in the middle of a _fucking siege_ to observe Reinhardt. The Omnics were destroyed, with claw marks and massive blunt force applied via a huge sword."

"And you think… Think this has something to do with me?"

The agent nodded. "He has been in contact with all five agents all around the world in five months, completely anonymous and a general mystery. It's why we tried to find you faster, the sixth and so far final member of Overwatch should you join. We hope to have you join, and possibly more later. We also hope to draw out this enigma of a man. Using you."

"So that's what I am to you? Bait? For some stalker you're telling me I met not fifteen minutes ago? And a strike team? You're insane! I can't fight worth a damn, and I'm trash at karate. I'd die as soon as I saw the first Omnic!"

The agent raised his hand in a placating gesture. "Not combat, Ms. Liao. Intelligence and operations. You would be the asset to run the show behind the scenes. While they're out fighting, you are safe and sound at base, making notes on enemy movement patterns, motives, abilities, and others. You will be the archivist, and apply the use of your intelligence to pass on to the agents in the field. We have had our eye on you for a while now. We know that you have an IQ of about 160, are proficient in every subject you study, and that college is way too easy for you. If you join Overwatch, you'll make more money than you ever do outside college."

Xanthe considered it. All that Agent Dutchson had said was true. College was ridiculously easy for her, but expensive. She often felt like her skills were wasted to pick up a standard office job in Beijing.

But this… a strike team to combat the Omnic Crisis. Liao did not hate Omnics, but rather felt like they were misunderstood. They had been created by Omnica Corporations to serve humanity, and now all they wanted was freedom. Now both human and machine were learning the hard way. Liao could help end it, and be free to pursue knowledge in her time between missions. It was a way to put her intelligence to use. And Liao, bring prideful to a degree, would not let it go to waste.

"I'll do it." The agent nodded. "On one condition." The agent raised a gray eyebrow. "I would like to at least learn the motives of the guy who knows all about Overwatch. Study him, if you will. I have an interest in psychology, and if he meant no harm to the others, I'd like to know why he's observing them. But if his motives are malevolent, I want some protection against him. I don't care if he can turn into a damn dragon. I want to see him for what he is, considering I just met him and he looked like a normal guy, except with a harp."

Agent Dutchson nodded again. "I can employ less reputable sources around the area to subdue him should they see him. There are currently no agents here with me to assist, so forgive the Hollywood science of us having agents on hand everywhere."

Xanthe nodded. "I understand. I'll keep an eye out."

"One more thing, Xanthe Liao." Said the agent. He pulled out a manila envelope, handing a paper to her along with a pen. "Sign here, and you will officially be a part of Overwatch. Pack your things, and you will be in America next week, along with your team."

Xanthe Liao signed, the pen spelling out a crisp signature. "Welcome to Overwatch." The agent smiled.

…

Draconian was slowly becoming more and more pissed off. Everytime he followed up with his sources and the name of Liao, it led to a dead end. No one possessed any special ability, gimmick, or attribute that screamed Overwatch material.

Draconian sighed. He should have thought it wouldn't be this easy to find them all. Or at least Liao. He knew the man was a mystery as much as Draconian was to everyone else. He growled softly. All he wanted to do was rest and play his harp, letting his thoughts rest before the memories overtook him again.

 _He felt her laugh as much as he saw it, her incarnation in the new world an exact copy of her from the original. Except nothing had come from the first to repeat itself in the third. "Fuck me." whispered Draconian savagely to himself. He watched her move out of sight, jars of paint in her basket as she moved away. His eyes burned a deep, lapis lazuli blue, glowing as they always did, except the light seemed dimmer. His cape had formed up around his head and lengthened into a cloak, forming a sweeping cloaked figure hidden in obscurity._

 _Draconian hated himself. The world was better, greater, more whole than the previous two, full of forests and rivers with which to rest and recover his solidarity. To spend in blissful solitude. To yearn silently and angrily and sadly._

 _He knew his feet would drag him back to her, eyes turning from gold to dark, royal blue as he watched. Draconian knew what he did was obsessive. Creepy. Stalkerish. But he had no choice._

 _He tried so hard to stay away. So, so hard. He had tried, but after prolonged periods of time away from her, he began to cough up blood, his normally strong and steady heart augmented by magic beginning to palpate unsteadily. The longest he managed was a few years. And then, weak, feverish, and crawling, his hair streaked with grey and smooth hands lined from normally unseen age, he stumbled into the city of Arakresh, where she lived, a city with Middle Eastern architecture from the world two Changes ago. He swallowed, sick, nauseous, wanting to throw up but not being able to because he did not eat. And Draconian knew as he saw her walk through a bazaar that this was his price._

 _Satisfaction of the world. But never the heart._

 _As he looked, he felt himself recover. The gray faded from his hair, his hands smooth and unblemished again. His strength returned, power surging through his veins with magic. He felt… almost as if he could talk to her. But instead he watched. Unobtrusive, silent, and respectful of her distance._

 _But Draconian was never truly at peace. And whatever people called it - chance, probability, luck, statistics, destiny, or FATE - was a heartless, emotionally void bastard that always ruined Draconian._

 _He looked like just a normal man. Dark skin from the sun, black hair, a shawl over his head to block out the heat. Thin build, and roughspun, ragged clothes. Not uncommon for the more arid climate._

 _Draconian only knew later that he fought for a radical political group, and Draconian, removed from the politics and most of the world in general due to his self imposed isolation, found out that her death was random, a point proven for a political faction. The Dramaic, they called themselves, was a group of insurgent rebels fighting to bring down a peaceful government. It rang of the terrorism and fear in the Middle Eastern countries during Draconian's time thousands and thousands of years ago._

 _Draconian watched in helplessness as he sank the dagger into her back, her hazel eyes widening in shock and pain. She stumbled over the counter of the merchant, art supplies and paint brushes spilling from her hand, the blood a beautiful and horrifying shade of crimson on the sun baked cobblestones._

 _Draconian never knew what happened next. Instead he only heard from his Dragons the following events._

 _The stone around him instantly sublimated, the fire burning deep crimson with a black core. His yell of fury and pain and fear caused a storm that toppled minarets and collapsed the roofs of mosques in Arakresh. The civilians caught in the fiery epicenter that was Draconian were found scorched into the walls like a nuclear blast._

 _The man was unaffected, staring in awe and fear at Draconian. The man of Dragons raised his hand, and a blue black light emerged from the man's mouth as he coughed it up. The man's soul and body erupted into black flame as Draconian snuffed it out pitilessly._

 _Draconian was found holding her, the most terrible sound coming from his throat as he held her body, the heat still radiating from him but somehow not affecting her corpse._

 _Two Dragons by the name of Cromayla and Viarnost extricated him from her, his screams of pain terrible to hear as they fought through the heat to reach him. They laid her body down gently, flying away with an almost comatose Draconian in their claws. His appearance was that of a demon, they said. His eyes, always luminous gold in most cases, were black as pitch, his harp's color scheme reversed from white wood with black grain to black wood and white grain. His cape, glowing with liquid, pulsating color, had gone out, a ragged fluttering shape like that of a bird's broken wing._

 _He was told he was screaming and shouting to kill him. To end it. That_ _ **nothing**_ _was worth this broken world where he must watch her die. Feel her die. Until his long lifespan was up._

 _For that was his price of the changed world._

 _But Fate was not done with Draconian. He knew she would come back, the same person, same look, same mannerisms, same everything. For in the price of the Change, that too was her curse. To be reincarnated until Draconian said how he felt._

 _And he never could. He was doomed to watch her die as civilization went on, years passing by. And his curse of having to see her went dormant until she became herself again, a young woman in her early twenties with a passion for art and whimsical humor._

 _He hated himself because it was his fault. She had been essentially his crush in the first, original world, and now he had doomed her to eternal life over something as immature as a high school crush! something not even Draconian wanted, knowing that one day, death would claim him. The Dragons would remain, however. Eternal and everlasting. But he would go into that darkness… one day, hating himself for what he had done and what he could never do._

 _Before he left to aid the world of Overwatch, he had his Dragons do something. A picture of her, contained within a copper locket hidden in the folds of Draconian's suit, to stave off the years he would be away in their world without her involuntary cure, the timed price of Draconian's magic. Draconian hoped it would last. But deep down, his doubts were omnipresent._

… _.._

Draconian's eyes flew open, fury surging through him as the memories receded and his body slowly went from rigid to relaxed once more. The rage at himself was palpable, heat flowing off his body and embers beginning to flicker in his hair and clothing. He felt the locket heat up in his clothing, enchanted to prevent melting from Draconian's higher than average body heat and flames. His fists clenched and unclenched, rage roaring through him, but it was only a candle compared to the despair he had felt that day he held her body.

His fist lashed out, driving it through an alley wall up to his shoulder. He felt cinderblock, mortar, brick, plaster, two by fours, and nails give way under his anger, leaving a smoking, charred hole the size of a large man in the alleyway. As fast as that, the rage at himself abated, leaving him a glum mess as he frowned at the result of his impulsiveness. He removed his arm, the skin no worse for wear and smooth. Any normal human would not have an arm after something like that. He sighed, walking away calmly and depressedly, hoping it would rain and wash the world anew like it always did in his world.

Unbeknownst to Draconian, a child emerged from underneath an overflowing dumpster, looking fearfully at the wreck Draconian had made in his rage. He was an urchin, homeless and derelict and scrounging food from trash cans and collecting newspapers for ineffective bedding. He watched the man walk away, cape fluttering in a nonexistent breeze as steam from sewer pipes and shops obscured his figure.

The urchin bolted, malnourished legs running as fast as they would carry him. He arrived at ramen shop wherein sat the dark of society. Men in sharp business suits carrying briefcases and flanked by men whose genetics were that of Neanderthal origin. Men who were ragged thin, their eyes set deep in their skulls and who stared at the flickering neon lights in the reflection of blades and guns. Others who bore thick beards and leather clothing and piercings covering their face. The man serving the ramen casually polished a shotgun behind the counter, his expression dark and hooded. Some men were handsome, with movie star smiles and slender builds and knives hidden in their suits. Others wore hoods and dark, somber clothing. It was a place men came to kill or who came back from killing. Extortion, blackmailing, rape, and death was as common as the threats which came before the said act in this place.

The urchin ran in, regardless of the obvious peril and pedophiles who lurked within. "He's here." He told the server behind the counter.

The man looked him in the eye, his other hidden behind an eyepatch. He threw the cloth with which he polished the shotgun down, pumping it once. "Men." His voice was quiet and carried through the dimly lit ramen shop. "That agent said he'd pay us good for one _alive_ man." They all looked up. "Go get him. Young man in an old suit. They want him alive. He didn't say anything about fucking him up. One of you, go get the girl. Once she confirms it's him, we'll get our pay."

They filed slowly out the door, the nightmares of society searching for the young man. Little did they know Draconian sat on the roof of an inn a short walk away, his harp glowing red and calm as the strings thrummed from his fingers. The moon shone dimly through the smog of Beijing, and the cape on his back was a deep blue, his eyes closed as he moved his hands through the harp, its tune lonely and forlorn.

Below him moved three men, pointing at the figure seated on the roof, legs dangling and focus consumed in music. "That's him," they said. "Easy." One took out his gun, aiming at the seated figure. A crack echoed in the night, and Draconian twitched to the right, his harp going silent. His eyes opened, radiant gold suns in the night.

"Now, now." Said Draconian. "That is quite impolite." He slid off the edge of the building, the cape beginning to flow with bloody red light, his eyes still burning gold. He stowed the harp on his back, spreading his hands as he landed, concrete cracking beneath him as he seemed to land as light as a bird. The men did not shrink from him, instead staring down the composed young man.

"Now, gentlemen, perhaps you might explain why you saw fit to riddle me with holes without my knowledge of knowing why?" His glare burned hot and molten, gold irises unsettling and unearthly. He walked forward with his hands behind his back, back straight and body relaxed.

"There's a bounty on ye." Said one man, his accent marred by half a tongue and broken teeth. "We want our pay."

"A bounty hmm?" Mused Draconian. "Was this Egypt in which I acquired it? Stockholm? I confess, it did seem like a threat, but it may have been misinterpreted. Happens."

The man with eyepatch leered at him. "Agent came a-walkin' in. Said a young girl needed protection from ya and that yer wanted fer questionin'. He didn't say nothing about dragging you there."

"I hate being dragged." Said Draconian. "Perhaps if I came quietly? That would prevent me showering the streets with your blood and your organs stuck up on street lights." Moreover his interest was piqued in that it was a young girl who apparently needed "protection" from Draconian.

The men looked at each other, expecting a fight. "That works too, I s'pose."

Draconian grinned, completely at ease despite being surrounded by three people who'd just shot at him. He walked with them a short way back to the ramen shop, curious and hands twitching in case he needed a weapon.

The bar remained dimly lit, but in the shadows of the chairs sat three other people with a frightened looking girl in the middle. A very familiar, white haired, hazel eyed girl with orange glasses. "Xanthe Liao?" Said Draconian.

Draconian, normally a man of peace and reflection, who thought there was a good reason for people doing what they did, began to feel rage kindle within him. He had met this girl for all of ten minutes and she had put out a _bounty_ on him? _What… the actual… hell?_ He thought.

She looked at him fearfully. "I… I had no idea he would do this."

Draconian, on the edge of fury, calmly, stonily asked "Who?"

Liao looked down in shame. "Th-the agent. Agent Hodge Dutchson, he said. You were wanted for questioning due to stalking the Overwatch members. I… I feared for my safety, and he said he'd employ 'unreputable sources' to protect me. He put out a bounty for you, alive. All…." She looked down, sobbing. "I just wanted to ask what you were doing. I'm sorry for pulling you into this. You're probably not even who I was looking for."

Draconian was silent for a cold, long minute, clarity sinking into his thoughts and preventing his mind from overthinking his reaction to Liao. "No. You are right in the fact I have observed the Overwatch members before their joining. You were the sixth and final one. The last for me to observe, and the first to receive my remedy."

Liao looked up. "Remedy?"

Draconian motioned to draw something from within his wrinkled jacket. The mercenaries tightened their grip on his arm, causing the man to look at them from underneath the hood formed up around his cape. Gold eyes glared at them, red wisps beginning to curl deep in the irises. The men hesitated, letting go a split second later before Draconian decided to say 'Fuck it' and rip his arm off.

He pulled a manila folder from his jacket, unfolding a small, half sheet of yellow, ancient parchment written in a straight, lancing handwriting in print. He showed it to Liao in the dim light. On it were scrawled three sentences in the same sword sharp script. "My name is Draconian of the Dragons. I am your ally, not your friend. The Dragons shall aid you."

Liao looked at it, hazel eyes widening. "What does it mean?"

Draconian smiled tightly. "Precisely that."

"I… I don't get it."

Draconian laid it on the counter, the server watching him warily down the sights of his twelve gauge. "Nor should you." Said Draconian, his body language relaxed and unconcerned. Liao wondered how he was so calm despite having a small, psychopathic platoon leveling their guns at him. They eyed him warily, their foreheads unconsciously beaded in sweat.

He turned back to Liao. "I will explain more when I can. When you are with Overwatch. But for now, we must take our leave."

He strode toward Liao, the guns coming up to meet him again.

The man with the eyepatch leveled his Ruger at Draconian. Fifteen more guns went up with it, from AK-47s to Desert Eagles to even an MP40. Draconian glanced around him. "You gotta bounty on your head, little man." Growled the man with the eyepatch, his remaining grey eye quivering in its socket. "You ain't leaving with no one."

"And after that…" A sharply dressed older gentleman smiled savagely, yanking Liao back by her white hair. She cried out in pain. "We was thinkin' of havin' us a little treat."

Draconian, who preferred reason to violence when necessary, sighed. "Gentlemen, there's no need for-"

A loud crack split the air, Draconian stumbling backward over a table, clutching his chest. Liao screamed, watching his slender figure arch backward.

Silence.

Then… movement, along with a sharp movement of Draconian's hand, grabbing one man's ankle and snapping it like dry tinder.

The man screamed, holding his mangled foot as Draconian rose, eyes crimson and dark. He raised his hand as more bullets took him in the chest, impacting him as severely as they would a titanium wall. He shrugged them off, blade awhirl and singing a deadly song as limbs were removed and throats were slashed.

The man behind the counter racked a shot, taking Draconian full in the chest. He snarled, his suit no more than only slightly more wrinkled. He threw the sword, impaling him to the wall by his chest.

"STOP!" The man with the eyepatch snarled at him, holding Liao in one hand and digging his Ruger into her chin as tears streamed from her eyes, small hiccupping gasps from her throat.

Draconian raised his hands, turning to the man slowly.

"No more or she gets it!" He dug the pistol into her chin, it's smoking barrel singeing her pale fair skin. The man looked bewildered, and scared.

"Wha… What the fuck _are_ you? You survived two hundred bullets to the face and body with nothing on you. What _are you?"_

Draconian smiled a tight lipped smile again, watching as tendrils of red fire curled down from the ceiling. As fast as thought they coiled around his wrist, burning through flesh, bone, and sinew as his hand was removed from his wrist, a slightly moist stump of red meat all that remained, his pistol dropping to the ground.

"I am your worst fucking nightmare buddy." Said Draconian flatly as the man stared in shock at his stump. Liao shoved him away, and more tendrils of fire curled around his thick neck, choking off his screams.

His truncated body fell to the ground, the stump of his neck completely cauterized from fire.

Liao, in shock and paralyzed by fear, lurched over a table. Remains of what looked like chow mein splattered two corpses, her glasses askew.

Draconian's sword vanished, adjusting his tie and cape. He looked at the corpses, not sorry for their fate. He walked over to Liao, eyes turning a strange deep purple, glowing like hot amethysts. "Your house. Now." He said simply.

…..

A half hour later they were back in Liao's apartment. Liao, still in shock, sat on the couch, a blanket thrown over her by Draconian, who appeared nervous. His eyes were still a deep purple, glowing like two nightlights.

He quickly brewed some tea without permission, jasmine with a clove of some sort of herb. He handed it to her, his sentences clipped and short. "Drink. Rest. You are in shock."

Liao sipped it unfeelingly, watching the young man look around him. He seemed satisfied with the books scattered around the room, rapidly flipping through pages filled with charts and theorems on math, engineering, psychology, and science. "That's it…" breathed Draconian. "That's why."

Draconian sat across from her, eyes wide and glowing like mutated suns. "Do not speak." He said. He handed the paper he showed her earlier to Liao. "Xanthe Liao." He chuckled to himself. "Completely in anonymity. I'd never find you were it not for fate. A prodigy in all subjects, but still just a college student. No wonder I found no mention of you. Ah, but knowledge is power, after all." He tapped the side of his head.

Liao stared at him blankly.

"Ah." He said. "Shock." He rummaged around in his jacket, pulling a half full emerald green flask from his inner pockets. Inside it swished a thick gold liquid, glowing like his eyes.

"Drink." He said.

She did, expecting it to taste like nothing or something terrible. Instead it tasted of her mother's bean buns, sweet, pastry rolls filled with delicious red paste. It filled her with strength, and she felt the shock wear off.

"Whoa." She said. "What-"

"Estus." He said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Estus." He repeated. "Very hard to come by. Even harder to make." He frowned at the flask, which now seemed only a third full now. "I'm due for a refill. What did yours taste like?"

Liao, burning with questions, opened her mouth to speak. "Bean buns. My mother's." She frowned. "Wait-"

"Hmm." He hummed. "Mine tastes like Mountain Dew Baja Blast. Which means I have to be very careful I don't consume it all at once."

"So, sir…"

"Draconian."

"Riiiight." She said. "So, Draconian… what do you want? Why were you looking for me?"

Draconian smiled a nervous smile. "To deliver a message, of course."

"Right, but what-"

"That one there." He pointed at the letter on her coffee table.

"Yeah, but-"

"Precisely what it means."

Liao, growing angry, growled. "I _know_ , but what do you want?"

Draconian appeared surprised. "What?"

"What do you _want_ from Overwatch?"

"Oh." He chuckled again, a smooth flow of a rolling baritone. "Why, to aid you of course!"

"Why?"

Draconian looked at her directly, his face cold and serious. Glints of gold began to appear in his purple eyes."Xanthe Liao." He said, his voice deep and prophetic. "The world without Overwatch is a ruined world. Ruled by fear. Death. Corruption. Loss. Without Overwatch, there were no heroes… and no good to fight the evil, no light to the dark. Children grow up knowing naught but violence. Knowing nothing but the destruction of morality and the world. Overwatch is more than an organization, a strike team. It will be the light to stay the dark."

Liao looked at Draconian, surprised to see what looked like a tear etch its way down into his stubble.

The mysterious young man stood up, smiling uneasily. His eyes had changed once more, from solid purple to a strange fragmented purple within which shone radiant gold. "Well, best I be off, before my mental fortifications break down and I'm having an epileptic seizure from not being drunk enough to talk to woman efficiently." He walked toward the window, smiling.

"Good luck, Liao. Give my regards to Overwatch, and I'll see you again soon. Oh, and if you see that agent again, punch him in the dick for me." The man of Dragons threw himself through the glass, ten stories below on to solid concrete.

Liao gasped, rushing over and looking out the shattered pane. Draconian was gone, the only indication of him having existed a cold cup of tea and shattered glass.

…..

One week later, Xanthe Liao was on a plane bound to Washington D.C, watching clouds eddy beneath her and wondering what the future would hold.

Several hours passed before she stepped into West Point, awed by it's prestigious look with Spartan structure and regime.

In the middle of the grounds stood a collection of five people. A beautiful, early thirties woman with dark, copper skin and a Wedjat tattoo below her left eye. A hulking man with long blonde locks and a fierce grin on his face. A dark, somber man with a pitch black beard and dark smoldering eyes filled with some sort of amusement. A short dwarf of a man in an old tank top and jeans, two great blond muttonchops on the sides of his head. And an imposing, tall man with light blond hair and hard blue eyes.

"Welcome to Overwatch, Xanthe Liao." Said Jack Morrison.


	6. And the World At Our Feet

_Author's Note:_ Greetings again all. Draconian again, and this, to your delight I imagine, is a brief author's note simply wishing you well, and to enjoy your last few days of Overwatch Uprising. Hopefully by June I can post a bit more often. Enjoy everyone! :)

-TheeDraconian

...And the World at Our Feet

Liao fidgeted in the suit, its material tight and uncomfortable to wear. It was extremely hot in the building, despite it being a brisk October day, and Liao was sweating up a storm in her three piece suit that she thought made her look like an ambitious well to do child as opposed to a strike team scientist. "Do I _really_ have to wear this?"

Jack held up a finger to his lips, silencing her as he looked behind the thick red curtains.

Gabe laughed behind her, a slow rolling chuckle. "Always wondered what was up a politician's ass. Now I know. It's the fucking suit." Liao scowled at him, unamused by Gabe's lewd sense of humor.

The six of them stood behind thick red curtains in the Capitol building of the United States, seated and watching while the President gave a speech on the state of war with the Omnic Crisis seeming worse every day. Jack scowled as he listened in on the President's words.

"He's lying through his teeth. The military can give the Omnics a fight, but only up to an extent. Neither of us have the upper hand."

Torbjorn was seated near the door, wispy stubble and whiskers on his chin and lips where he hadn't shaved recently. He was being uncharacteristically silent, his jaw knotting and grinding being the only motion as he stared blankly at the floor. Ana sat with her eyes closed and seated a little closer to the group of Liao, Jack, and Gabe who peered anxiously through the curtains. Reinhardt was seated next to Torbjorn, somehow whispering to him about something despite his immense size. Liao didn't think it was possible for Reinhardt to whisper, given his jovial nature and girth.

Another pang of discomfort swept through her. _This is it._ Thought Liao anxiously. After they were called up there, and approved by Congress, Overwatch would officially be a thing. It made Liao's stomach flutter nervously, despite the light lunch of rice and vegetables in soy sauce she had had earlier.

There was no turning back after this.

She heard the speech of the President faintly in the background, knowing that Jack was listening intently on every word and every truth and lie he was saying. Gabe was also listening, but made less of a show of it than pacing the room and peering out the curtains like Jack was.

A hand settled on Liao's shoulder, making her jump in surprise as she sat with her head bowed. Ana stood over her looking at the red expanse they would walk out of. "Patience, child." Said Ana, her brown eyes calm and and composed. "They will look at all of us. Not just you."

Liao scoffed. If only she could be half as cool or as badass as Ana. She had seen how pinpoint accurate she had been at the range with an older sniper rifle styled as an Intervention. She saw her sight in, heard the deep metallic _thrum_ of the sniper as it jerked back against her shoulder.

And again, she fired. And slid the bolt back, ejecting the spent shell and racking another. And again. _Thrum. Click. Rrrict. Thrum. Click. Rrrict._ On and on it went til she had spent ten rounds in the clip, loading in another and bolting it back.

Liao was amazed to see that there was no red left to hit in the center of the target. _Incredible._ She thought.

Later that day she watched Jack and Gabriel try out their respective weapons in the shooting range. Jack used a military issue M4 Carbine, Reyes two pistol grip shotguns that somehow didn't take his hands with them whenever he fired them. As for Torbjorn and Reinhardt, they spent most of their time in what was called the "Smithy", or Torbjorn's workshop where he developed and prototyped weapons he had taken with him from Sweden. He had never let Liao in, and was hesitant to let the icy figure of Jack or smoldering figure of Reyes in. He didn't care for Ana going in, and Reinhardt seemed to strike something other than irritation with the grumpy Swede. Reinhardt, when Liao asked him, smiled but gave her no solid answer other than that he was working on "weaponry".

Liao tried not to let it show, but she felt woefully out of place here. She'd never admit, but she felt in way over her head. Here she was with some of the world's most talented soldiers and the most Liao was doing was sitting around reading books. She sighed, not really trusting herself to talk with Ana or Reinhardt. They seemed trustworthy and kind, but Liao was the youngest on their team. Just barely twenty four. Jack was twenty eight, but seemed older, carrying his rifle with confidence and cutting the figure of leadership. By all accounts, she should have been in college, working…

...for a dead end office job in China.

She shook her head. No. She was being petulant. She had no experience with war, and if things went as they were planned to go, then she would never experience it, unlike the others. She was to be their metaphorical agent, ambassador, field intelligence and the one who ran diagnostics on Omnics and the enemies of Overwatch.

"...And we have devised a solution to the Omnic Crisis, an elite international strike force composed of the world's greatest soldiers from around the world."

Liao's stomach tightened at President Rourke's words,

"People of America, say hello to Overwatch."

Liao felt like she was on a roller coaster, her stomach flying and becoming grounded as the Overwatch agents walked out to the sound of polite clapping in front of Congress and national TV.

President Thomas Rourke, a sincere man with blue eyes and slick black hair and a Democrat, spread his hands to receive them. Liao stared up frightfully, the bright lights causing her to blink rapidly. She was sure her already pale skin was bloodless in the light.

"These are the men and women to combat the Omnic Crisis and to establish peace between our two races." Said the President. "They are Overwatch."

Liao's skin seemed to be chilled and heated at the same time he said that, and it sank into her that Overwatch was not just a strike team, but a whole organization to be added upon and keep the peace in the wake of the Crisis. It made Liao feel better to know that what she signed up for was in good standing and faith. She stood with her back straighter, staring at the lights and cameras with determination. To her left, Reinhardt and Jack stood tall and imposing, their blue eyes reflecting the light. To her right glowered Torbjörn, Ana watching passively, and Reyes with the hint of a smirk on his face.

Liao listened as the President went on about how Overwatch would save the world, composed of the best and most brilliant scientists mankind had to offer. Soldiers. Scientists. Oddities. Adventurers. "This is Overwatch." Repeated President Rourke.

But it would not go unchallenged. Liao knew that despite something being factually the best for everyone, in politics, there would always be a group to challenge the validity of it and make it seem like a waste of time, federal money, and resources.

So it was with Overwatch.

A man with thinning grey hair and cloudy grey eyes stood up. "And this program would remain in effect for how long?"

President Rourke responded. "Indefinitely, or until shut down. This is an organization for keeping the peace and exploring scientific boundaries. They are more than soldiers. They are the scientists working to benefit humanity. Xanthe Liao, our youngest member so far, has written papers on artificial intelligence that could lead to greater understandings of the Omnics and mend the strife between our races. They are the role models for which the world will hinge upon in times of unrest. Of war."

Another politician stood up, a man in his seventies with greying hair and brown eyes and a muscular figure that said the man was quite healthy and cared for his body.

The President addressed him. "Speaker Armin."

Franklin Armin nodded toward the President, the Speaker of the House an imposing figure of authority and no nonsense.

"Mr. President, do you feel that with our defenses currently stretched thin, that it would be counterproductive to use our resources on an organization whose fruits may or not be born in time to end the Crisis?"

The President narrowed his eyes and grimaced, seeming apologetic. "Armin, I have full belief that this organization will end the Crisis and more. Furthermore, I-"

"But do you have _proof,_ President?" Inquired Armin.

The President sighed. "Armin, you know I would not do this if I did not have faith the organization would work."

Armin nodded. "I understand, but you must see that there is only six people in a as of yet unknown organization whose labors we have not seen yet, or results of that labor."

"Armin, these-"

Armin held up a hand. "Furthermore, under whose jurisdiction would they be held under? Surely not any one's country. Or what if Germany does not decide to give up the big one there? Or the one with the tattoo under her eye is taken back to Egypt?"

Reinhardt, a fiery figure in his youth, spoke up angrily. "My name is Reinhardt Wilhelm, sir! I have fought firsthand against the Omnics in Stuttgart and Eichenwalde! Back then it was just me and other members of the Crusader division under the command Balderich von Adler. With these people we might not have lost him, and indeed turned the tides of battle in our favor. I have faith this organization will end the Crisis brought about by our global ignorance of Omnics! We have been gathered under representatives of the U.N. We WILL make this work. No one shall take us of our free will."

Silence filled the room chamber.

Reinhardt breathed heavily, his one blue eye shining brightly.

Armin's jaw knotted, and he bowed his head in thought.

"What say you, Armin?" Asked the President. "You have heard it first from a member of Overwatch. Now will you pass your judgement upon them."

Armin raised his head, and Liao almost gasped out loud. She thought it might've been a reflection of the light, or a flash of the cameras, or her brain telling her wrong information. But just for a moment, she had spotted a flash of gold.

A flash of gold… in the eyes of Franklin Armin.

Her thoughts went to Draconian, and beside her she saw Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Ana stiffen. Jack and Gabriel looked confused, staring hard at Armin.

The muscular old man chuckled, raising his hands, his eyes steely grey again. "Well, I believe it falls upon my party's decision to instate Overwatch as an organization, but I for one will cast my vote as yes. These soldiers appear determined and confident in their abilities. Therefore my judgement in this will allow them to be founded as a true organization. Do not prove me wrong, Overwatch."

….

The votes were cast in a blur as Liao stood and answered questions from the various politicians, about what she would do, her role in Overwatch, how she felt joining it, the mental state of her teammates and how she felt about being a part of the prestigious organization despite her young age. In essence, she thought it was completely redundant, variations of the same questions being asked in different wording. Finally it ended at six P.M Eastern Standard Time, and Liao almost ran from the stuffy building, loosening her tie and panting in the cool night air.

Jack and Gabriel brought up the rear, with Torbjorn, Reinhardt, and Ana before them respectively.

"Are you okay, dear?" Said Ana, laying a hand on her back as she walked up to them.

Liao looked up, brushing her white hair out of her eyes and looking at Ana in surprise. She didn't think the older woman really cared that much for her. Then again, she didn't really think the team cared about anyone just yet. It made her feel relieved to know that at least the woman was looking out for her. "I'm fine. It was just hot in there."

Ana nodded sagely. "Still, not quite as hot as Egypt on a brisk day." She smiled and winked, walking away to their convoy of black government licensed cars. She piled in with Ana and Gabriel, while Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Jack took up the black car behind them.

Gabe stretched out his feet behind them, Liao chewing her lip in unconscious worry.

Ana was quick to notice how nervous Liao was. "What is it child? You ran out of there like you'd seen a ghost."

Liao didn't respond immediately, and when she did it was quietly, her words a bare whisper. "Did you see him?"

Gabe, quiet but silently paying attention, leaned in. "What?"

Ana didn't quite catch on. "You mean Armin, the Speaker of the House?"

Liao nodded. "HIs eyes… they were gold. For just a second."

"Ah." Ana nodded. "I didn't pay it much attention. I thought it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. I looked back at him and they were grey. Sometimes, my dear, a rock that looks like a human is still just a rock. Take it from a sniper."

"Hold on." Said Gabe, holding up a hand. "This guy - Draconian, I guess you call him - He's the guy who appeared before everyone except Jack and me, unless that agent who we saw at the time was him. Now, how did you describe how he looked?"

Liao rattled off his archaic, out of place appearance. Long, unkempt brown hair, radiant gold eyes glowing like two suns, a strange glowing cape that pulsed and changed colors. Short and slender figure, long fingered hands, a white harp with black grain, and his eyes changed colors. But they always glowed.

Ana nodded in affirmation of Liao's description. "I met this supposed Draconian in Egypt on a mission once. He was like you described. Old, rumpled suit, cape, except I met him when his eyes were orange. He said it was a side effect of him being drunk."

Gabriel laughed. "You met a drunk guy in the middle of conflict in Egypt?" Ana glared at him, his laughter dissolving into silent chuckles.

"Let me ask the others." Said Liao. "Maybe Torbjörn and Reinhardt saw something." She took out her phone, a construct replacing the glass and silicon phones with hard light structures and fiber optics. She connected with the monitors installed on the back of the two front seats in their car.

The scene she saw was almost familial. Reinhardt and Torbjörn were laughing uproariously, Jack chuckling as Reinhardt told a joke about a prank he had pulled on a former comrade of his in Germany's army.

Liao felt like her heart was being pulled into taffy. These people were almost like family already, and Liao was just… Liao, she thought glumly.

"He had no idea he was carrying a BB gun!" Laughed Reinhardt. "He said it felt lighter than usual! Imagine his surprise when he shot plastic instead of lead! The instructor was nicht glücklich." Another round of laughter rocked the car before Liao interjected.

"Reinhardt!"

The massive man jerked upright, hitting his head on the ceiling of the car, stammering and sputtering as he choked off his laugh. He saw Liao on the monitor, immediately straightening upright and maintaining a ridiculous formal manner. "Ah - Ah, Miss Liao! I apologize for that. I, uh... was just sharing tales of an old soldier with them. What do you need?" Torbjörn and Jack looked at her in expectation.

She breathed deeply, intimidated by the irritable Torbjörn and icy demeanor of Jack Morrison. "I - I was wondering if you guys saw it. I thought I saw… saw a flash of gold in Speaker Armin's eyes. I don't know if it was a trick of the light or a reflection, but I saw his golden eyes for a second. Did you guys see it too?"

She did not elaborate on 'his'. They had all been briefed on the oddity of Draconian and how he was wanted for questioning. They had all shared their part on Draconian. Reinhardt had told them of Omnics found in Eichenwalde with massive claw marks and sword slashes alike found on them after the Crusaders had retreated. Ana recounted the tale of a young man who fought four Omnics after a strafing run, moving so fast he caused a sandstorm and obscuring their optics. Torbjörn sourly recalled how the man had treated him to a plate of scones, and then drawn a sword out of thin air. Torbjörn went quiet when he said his words had been more factual and impacting then he let on, saying that Draconian, for better or worse, convinced him to join Overwatch to amend the Omnic Crisis.

Liao recalled how he had saved her from a group of rapists and murderers after an agent employed their service to draw out Draconian. How he had taken buckshot to the chest and how gold eyes snapped to red, a smoky purple sword weaving like a ribbon of death through their bodies. How red tendrils of fire slowly curled around one man's neck, his truncated stump smoking from being cauterized. She recalled also his fingers dancing across a white harp, an eldritch aura permeating his presence. Of calm and steady hands brewing tea and handing her what he called 'Estus'.

Torbjörn shook his head. "I saw a pompous windbag speaking against us."

"Reinhardt?" She asked.

"I'm sorry lass. I didn't see anything."

Liao felt her heart deflate irrationally, thinking she had saw the man who united Overwatch, however directly or indirectly. "He said he was our ally… I thought he was there."

And then the person she least expected to have a say in anything spoke up.

"I saw it." Said Jack Morrison. His blue eyes were deadly serious and unblinking. Liao could almost feel her eyes widen. "I thought it was a trick of the light too, but the more I looked the more I was sure I saw a flash of gold where there shouldn't have been. The problem is that no matter how you look at it, you described a young man with gold eyes and long brown hair. No offense to you, Liao, but I fail to see how Speaker Armin could fit that description."

Liao knew that while it seemed impossible, Draconian had more tricks up his sleeve if he was anything to judge by. "Maybe not." She said. "What if… Draconian used magic to disguise himself?"

Torbjorn laughed openly, which just made her doubt herself even more than the doubtful looks the others gave her. "Pfeh." Scoffed Torbjorn. "Magic? You mean like fairies and dragons and unicorns that shit rainbows?"

Liao scowled at him. "It sounds worse when you say it like that."

"Liao, I'm all for reasonable doubt, but that just sounds like wishful thinking." Gabe said.

"So he can conjure a sword." Torbjorn crossed his arms. "I bet I can make a weapon that conjures a sword. A hidden apparatus that, coupled with nanotech, can function far better than a lightshow."

"I don't know, Torbjorn." Said Reinhardt. "You can't explain the claw marks and sword slashes that fell whole rows of Bastions at Eichenwalde."

"Ah, not you too!" Snarled Torbjorn. "One of the only sane ones here, and your siding with this… this… child!" He pointed at Liao through the screen, feeling her heart soar in anger.

"Hey Torbjorn, I got a question for you." Said Liao, her tone deceptively calm.

"What?!" He yelled.

Liao's hazel eyes filled with more anger. "Why are you such a dick?"

Torbjorn's eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. "Why you little…"

Jack laid a hand on Torbjorn's shoulder, silencing the Swede with an icy glare. "Enough." He said. His voice cut through the tension like a hand through sun thinned mist. "Pick a place to eat, all of you. And we all pick the same restaurant, or we eat at the UN headquarters. And I don't feel like eating out of a vending machine."

Liao scrolled through her phone, as well as Reinhardt, Gabriel, and Ana. Torbjorn and Jack abstained, with the Swede glaring at Liao menacingly. She smiled to herself. _If this prick of a gnome wants to fuck with me, I'll show him what for._

The pit in her stomach remained, however. She was sure she had seen Draconian, no matter how he looked. Her every instinct told her that had been the mysterious man. Sighing, she forced it down. She had hoped… Hoped for his arrival.

Eventually they settled on a decent, all around option that instead of catering to one person's palate would satisfy everyone's at the Sonoma Restaurant and Wine Bar a short distance away from the Capitol building. Liao decided she wasn't hungry, her thoughts becoming surly with no proof that Draconian had showed up.

They could tell immediately that there was something wrong within the restaurant itself. The people ate robotically, their eyes glazed over and expressionless. They spoke in a flat monotone, a hum of white noise no louder than conversational, with no raucous laughs or smiles bringing life to the upscale restaurant.

"What the hell…" Whispered Gabe, his eyes darting around the restaurant, as if looking for the fastest possible escape route. Jack's eyes looked around just as warily, and Ana's gaze was relaxed, but every movement seemed on the edge of hostility.

LIao did not like the feeling of the place, feeling that something was drastically wrong. "Guys, maybe we should-"

"Ah, there you are!" A jovial, excited voice said. A man clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder, who jumped. The man was tall and slim, wearing a yellow white suit speckled with white dots, the fabric almost seeming to glow. HIs tie was purple and blue, white dots seeming to swirl in its folds. HIs eyes were a glowing violet purple, his hair black and cut short. His suit sported coattails that seemed to go from the yellow white to the same bluish purple his tie sported.

Liao was barely able to process this man's appearance before he smiled at her. "Good to meet you all!" He continued. "Our guests of honor in this stately hall. Come, take your seat! Your meal has been prepared and it would not do to let it grow cold."

Almost as if they had no choice, they followed the strange man to a booth, where he sat smiling and lacing his fingers next to Reinhardt, who barely fit within the booth's confines.

Liao cleared her throat. "So…"

The man straightened abruptly. "Oh yes, of course! Introductions! Well, my friends, my name is Preceyis."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Preceyis…?"

The man's eyes violet eyes clouded in confusion. "What do you mean, human?" He said human as if he wasn't.

"I mean, what's your last name? Are you a politician, a Senator, an ambassador? What are you here for, and what's going on?" Jack's tone became icy on his last question.

"Oh that." Said Preceyis. "I am here merely for demonstration, and at my brother's request. As to what's going on, my other brother currently with us is working a bit of magic. These people are fine. It's just they may wonder why they have no memories of the past half hour. And as to what I am, I am a Dragon, explaining my lack of a last name and occupation."

"A what?" Said Ana.

"A Dragon!" Said the man jovially. "A Procyon Dragon, specifically, or named after the brightest star in the constellation of Canis Minor. Though considering your constellations are different here than where I am from, it doesn't really apply."

Gabe raised a hand in a gesture for him to stop. "Wait, how the actual fuck can you be a Dragon? Because they way I see it, you payed a lot for some contacts and a glowing suit and tie."

The man chuckled. "All in good time, my friend. My brothers will be here to explain."

"Brothers?" Said Reinhardt. "What brothers?"

Preceyis winked. "All in good time my friend. Although…" His violet eyes grew thoughtful. "Dreamorus!" He called. "Come out and say hello!"

Liao wasn't sure how she could've missed it, but in the space of a heartbeat there stood another man, as tall and slender as his brother. HIs appearance was even more strange than Preceyis's. He wore a long trench coat which was colored a shimmering magenta, wisps of light green and blue flitting slowly through it. His hair was black and his face gaunt, and his stare seemed far away and unfocused.

An instant wave of drowsiness hit the group, all of them struggling to stay awake under the mysterious man's presence.

Vaguely they heard Preceyis speak. "Come now, Dreamorus. These ones have to stay awake. Draconian wouldn't want them passed out."

Liao fought through the haze of sleepiness, her thoughts jarred awake at Draconian's name. "W - wait… You know… Draconian?"

The man with the far gaze seemed to focus on her as much as he could. His voice was surprisingly light and musical, and Liao felt like that voice could tell her to sleep and she would be out cold. "Draconian is our brother, Xanthe Liao. He is a Dragon in all but our form. This form is taken for convenience and reflects our physical scale color and elements. After all, your government would throw a shit fit if they discovered Dragons here. I myself am a Dream Dragon. Thus the effect everyone displays here. As well as in the name." He smiled slightly, his teeth blindingly white.

Preceyis nodded. "Dreamorus is simply making sure we have that best privacy available. No one except us and Draconian will remember these events. I am here to show an extent of our magic. And to prove that we are your allies."

Preceyis looked up as two servers blankly brought out two trays piled with burgers and droughts of beer. He smiled, spreading his arms. "Dinner, everyone. Now don't be picky, because I don't know your preferences. By the way, there's two for you Reinhardt."

Dreamorus watched calmly, and Liao had the feeling that his unfocused gaze was just for looks and that he was far more aware than any of them.

Liao dug into her burger, surprised at how juicy it was, the meat cooked to medium rare and the cheese sharp, tangy, and aromatic. Liao did not often eat red meat. She was halfway through before she remembered to breathe. She looked up as the door opened, bringing in a gust of chill wind from the October night and a man with a wiry build, scruffy stubble, and… orange eyes.

Liao nearly dropped her burger. "Draconian…"

He bowed, smiling slightly. He nodded to Preceyis and Dreamorus, clapping them on the shoulder. "Good day all." He said.

"Hello, brother." Said Preceyis. Dreamorus nodded, shaking his hand as Draconian took a seat next to Ana. Draconian grabbed a glass and filled it with the amber liquid. He frowned, disdain on his face as he looked at the glass, then downed the whole thing in one drought.

He sighed, sinking into his chair. "I detest alcohol, but it is needed in this case. Not through any fault of your own, however. I cannot talk to most women without the aid of either alcohol, drugs, or mental fortification that lasts for five minutes"

"So, you're Draconian." Gabe said, eyeing him closely.

He nodded. "That I am. The one who saw fit to unite you all under that circle. And maybe push you along if you needed some guidance."

"So, why the hell have you been stalking us?" Said Jack, his blue eyes boring into

orange ones.

"Mostly observation and to observe how you all came together. Here's the thing though. You can never tell what a catalyst will be until it starts. In some cases, I have been that catalyst, especially in your case Liao. And yes, I did find out that what I was doing was pretty stalkerish, so I decided to remedy that with these." He dug into his jacket, pulling out several pages of paper, handing them to each Overwatch agent.

On it were written the same things. _The Dragons shall aid you. We are not your friends, but your allies._ On it was signed a thin, ragged signature. _Draconian._

Ana began to speak, being cut off abruptly as Draconian raised his hand. "It means exactly what you think it means. I am not your friend. I have none of those. No, I am your ally to help you and see that your fate is good up until a certain extent. At a certain point, I will return for good, being sporadic visitations from time to time. I do not age, due to the effects of magical augmentation, and after that certain extent…" Draconian smiled. "Then I can cast off the fate part, and really start aiding you."

"Why not start now?" Asked Reinhardt.

"Because the United States government is a bunch of tight suited assholes and extortionists and I'm currently on your wanted list for observing you all."

Ana nodded. "That's reasonable. But Draconian, I have a question for you."

He grunted. "I'd be surprised if there were no questions. Go ahead."

"How do you plan to aid us?"

He smiled wider. "Mostly myself, an occasional Dragon. There is another Overwatch member on Earth here currently, but it will be a while before he joins. I assisted him on the Horizon Lunar Colony before it was taken over."

Liao's eyes widened. "Wait. You were there?! On the colony during their uprising?"

Draconian nodded. "Fought a damn good many of them too. Nearly broke a few ribs."

Torbjorn scoffed. "You mean to say you've fought thirty or forty gorillas single handedly?"

"That's right."

"I thought no one survived the massacre." Said Jack.

"No one _human_ did." Said Draconian. "You'll see what I mean when you meet him."

Liao raised her hand, excited and hoping to prove her worth to this powerful ally. "Yes, Ms. Liao?" He said, his orange eyes on her.

"Was it you who spoke in Speaker Armin's place? I saw a flash of gold and thought…"

Draconian grinned. "Yes! Yes it was. I was hoping someone would catch on. And don't worry, Speaker Armin is knocked out in his bed. The problem for him was that he was traditionally conservative, and he would've advocated for the defense of the U.S. Being the Speaker of the House, he would have influenced most conservatives into thinking that Overwatch should not be ratified. So I took care of him by making sure he would have no memory of the past few days and that he could not attend the meeting."

"He's alive, right?" Asked Jack.

"Yes. He's no Donald fucking small hands Trump, so I let him be. He's just sleeping on a potion I made him drink. No memories, just sleep. He'll be _really_ hungry when he wakes up, but he'll be fine."

"Draconian…" Liao's voice was small but steady. "What do you gain from this? Why do you help us?"

"I wonder that too." Said Reinhardt. "Why would fight an army of Omnics just to see me?"

Draconian spread his hands. "I gain nothing besides seeing a world flourish. Believe me, Overwatch, without you, this world would fall to fear, corruption, and anger. The Omnics would cease to exist, and the wrong hearted would rule."

"And Omnics not existing is a bad thing?" Torbjörn chuckled at his own perceived wit.

Draconian stood up, leaning over the table, his eyes a mix of red and orange sifting through his irises. His voice was low and quiet. "Yes, Torbjörn Lindholm. That is a very bad thing. I come from a time where race relations were terrible and widespread. Just because I never saw it first-hand does not mean it didn't exist. My world is now far more tolerant of race, religion being less prominent. This means that everyone can get along without some made up secular deity from a two thousand year old text written by blind old men declaring that their sexuality is _wrong,_ their skin color is _wrong,_ their religion is _wrong._ I came from a time where if it was not an opinion of the few and powerful forced onto the people, then you were persecuted harshly for your 'sins'. So before you go declaring that Omnics are evil, take a look at who programmed them. Then realize that you've made them do your menial goddamn chores for fuck knows how long, and that now they fight for freedom, _they're_ somehow the bad guys. Quit judging Liao for perceived mistakes that can't hold a candle to your disposition to innocent Omnics. Want to know something? How many Omnics did you see in the Capitol building? None. So knock it the fuck off."

Draconian leaned back, his eyes returning to orange. Torbjörn sat in his seat, silently cowed into submission from Draconian.

Preceyis cracked his knuckles in the corner, Dreamorus watching serenely as ephemeral patterns shifted across his trench coat. "One thing we will not support is racism." Said Preceyis.

"The weaker man must be brought up by the strong so that he too may be strong." Said Dreamorus. "Humans have done impossible feats with the aid of others. Wild animals stopped attacking humans a long time ago because if one was killed, the whole pack would hunt them down. That would not be so if humans did not set aside such petty differences and refused to work together."

Draconian nodded. "I find the premise of judging a man by the levels of melanin in his skin extremely petty. I find that is the same with Omnics. Just because one is circuitry and the other is nervous tissue does not mean they both do not think. Or dream. Or feel."

Ana stood up, setting down her glass of wine. "He's right." Her dark eyes locked with his. "If I was not killing Omnics, then I'd be killing terrorists. And all things considered, Omnics have committed far less atrocities in their brief time than humans have in their millions of years."

Draconian smiled. "Thank you Ana."

Liao raised her hand again.

"Really Ms. Liao, we're not in school. Speak. You do not need my permission to do so." He chuckled as she blushed.

"I just… Um, I was just curious… The Dragons. While you guys are, well, definitely colorful and have something not human going on, how are you guys Dragons?"

Draconian grinned again, pointing to Preceyis with a wide smile on his face as well. "Preceyis, if you'd be so kind…"

The Dragon nodded, leaning forward slightly. A sound like that of unfurling canvas came from Preceyis.

Reinhardt stood up, his eyes wide. Torbjörn shouted, looking in wide eyes at the man in the white suit. Ana, Jack, and Gabriel watched in awe. Liao gasped.

"They're beautiful…" She said.

A pair of wide, blue black wings swept proudly from his back, a ghostly image of blue black frills emerging from his temples to the top of his head. His eyes had gone completely violet, white orbs lending them a serpentine look.

Preceyis smiled. "Well, go on then. You can touch them. I cannot fully change form due to being in a confined space in the most heavily watched capital on Earth, but you get the concept."

Dreamorus looked at Preceyis, yawning. "Oh please, Preceyis. I'll do you one better."

Preceyis looked at him, an eyebrow raised and his smile playful. "Do tell, brother."

"Yours is a physical form, unable to fit and observed through the cameras. Mine however…" He laughed quietly. "Mine is a corporeal form, and by extending my powers a bit, I can obscure any footage of it. Give them a more…" He tapped his sharp chin thoughtfully. "Powerful taste."

Draconian smiled at him. "Go ahead Dreamorus. Show them."

The Dragon clapped his hands. The man's form disappeared in a rush of purple mist in which danced green and blue.

A wave of drowsiness hit the Overwatch agents, struggling to stay awake in the thick magenta mist. Draconian and Preceyis were barely visible in it, their orange and purple eyes glowing in it. The rest was a landscape of shifting mist.

Liao looked around for a serpentine figure in the fog. Draconian clapped his hands. "Bravo on your dramatic entrance, Dreamorus. You can coalesce now."

A rush of purple and blue mist shot forward from outside, gathering into a sharp, triangular head striped in dark blue and magenta. It rested over Draconian's shoulder, his head about six feet tall. To Draconian's right curled Dreamorus's body, composed of light green mist with magenta spikes and black wisps curling from it. His body was long and serpentine, the rest disappearing into the wall. Light blue eyes looked back at them sagely.

The ephemeral mouth of Dreamorus smiled. "Glorious no? You should see us all. The Dragons of time, of twilight, of sun and moons and eclipse. Of fire and ice and forest and sky. There are thousands of us, back home. Perhaps, one day, we might show you our world."

Draconian stroked Dreamorus, running his finger along the sharp lime of his jaw as one might a pet. "Indeed, perhaps I-"

Draconian stopped speaking suddenly, clutching at his throat.

Liao stood up faster than she comprehended the fact she had stood up. "Draconian?!"

He looked up, his eyes wide and gold. She gasped. _Gold eyes…_

As fast as that his eyes were orange again, the agents (except for Torbjörn) sat watching him tensely.

"Ah." Draconian adjusted his tie. "It seems I'm running short of time. My drunken inhibitor is wearing off."

"What the fuck was that?" Gabe said, his tone more surprised than angry.

Draconian smiled again, but this one was bitter and reluctant. "I cannot speak in the presence of women unless inhibited. I can function, but barely so. Dreamorus helps, but only so much." Draconian turned to Preceyis, who frowned at Draconian in a familiar manner, as if this wasn't the first time it happened.

Dreamorus seemed to curl inward, green mist filling the restaurant and the magenta mist collapsing toward him. In ten seconds it was gone, and Dreamorus stood there in his human form again.

Draconian stood up, shaking the hands of everyone, including the irritable Torbjörn. "I must go. But you will see more of me, Overwatch. The agents who join you I will greet myself as well. You'll know who they are. Goodbye Overwatch." He bowed again, his cape flowing behind as Draconian walked out. Preceyis nodded, the wings collapsing into his back as he stood and followed. Dreamorus smiled and winked, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

And Liao sat as they disappeared, the people in the restaurant looking around confusedly, images of Dragons and the magisterial Draconian in her mind.

He had proved her right. And for that she felt absurdly wonderful


	7. Burn it All Down

_Author's Note:_ YAS, beotches. :P Gotta say, I'm excited for this chapter! Spent a lot of time on it, and I introduced two major characters in it! Enjoy! By the way, anyone want to kick ass on competitive with me in Overwatch? Message Draconian_Fire on PSN and I'll play with you. ;P I'm platinum, so I can hold my own, just trying to make diamond. And as I said, enjoy everyone! I think you'll like this chapter. :)

Burn It All Down

The shadows of the past haunted Draconian's face, desolate and hollow eyed as he walked forward. Bodies scattered around him, bullets flying at him. He didn't care. His stride was relaxed and easygoing, but his demeanor horrifying. Men shouted in some African dialect, pelting him with more ammunition. They shattered against his clothing and skin as if he were made of titanium. He held out his hand, sword filling his grip.

One man blitzed him, snarling in a berserker fury and attempting to run him through with a bayonet. It shattered against Draconian, who invited the man to his death in silence. The sword flickered through the air, and the man's head fell to the ground, staining Draconian's leather shoes with scarlet that matched the current shade of his eyes. He looked up from the corpse, his blank gaze focusing on the men who were getting more creative and destructive. With rocket launchers specifically.

Draconian did not care. He'd weathered worse back home. A high pitched _wheeeeeeeee_ sounded above him on the rocky ridge. _Fuck your rockets._ Thought Draconian. He raised his hand, the projectile slowing, stopping in midair, spewing flames out the back of the incendiary head. Men began to shout more frantically, the terrorists truly beginning to feel fear. He snapped his fingers, sending it right back at them. "Your religion will not save you." Said Draconian calmly. "Pick a god and pray."

Fire erupted on the ridge, pieces of flesh and organ covering it a dark shade of red speckled in pink. The screams were silent. Gloriously silent. Draconian breathed the smell of blood and gunpowder, looking like death himself. Then he heard it. Crying.

He walked throughout the camp, tearing the tarps off huge iron cages, the smell of excrement and blood omnipresent, assailing his nostrils. Men and women and children cowered fearfully, sobbing quietly. He placed his hands on the cages, prying them apart easily. It was then he saw it. The mutilation. Hands and feet missing, noses cut off, ears naught but empty holes. He stepped into the cage, holding his hand out to a small child, her eyes an epitome of the thousand yard stare. Her fingers were missing, and she didn't respond. He took her maimed hand calmly, and a soft white and gold light flowed from his hands. He watched as her fingers grew back, whole and sound and unmarked.

He repeated as thus with the hostages taken by the terrorists, pressing his hand to their forehead and watching as hands and feet and facial features grew back. The sobbing grew louder steadily, Draconian prying open cages and healing the maimed. "Be healed." He whispered. His eyes began to change color into a light, sky blue, glowing softly. Merciful. The sobbing was quite loud now, the villagers hiccuping foreign thanks to the man of Dragons. He pried open another cage, healing its inhabitants from permanent injuries.

Finished, he stood up, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Listen to me." His words were conversational, but carried to each and every person in sight. "You must leave this place. These people, there are more of them. They will hound you and hold you ransom and kill your loved ones. They care nothing for you. They are not humans. Never think of them as such. They are wolves in sheep's clothing. And the beast is ever insatiable. You must find salvation by yourself, but I will aid you this once to make up for the wrongs that were present now, and in the past. It can never begin to repay the tragedy throughout history in this region, but if you can spread the kindness of a stranger, I would be heartened. Go now, and remember." Draconian knew they would understand him, even if he didn't know their language.

He walked away from the village, his cape fluttering as he disappeared into the depths of the ever ravaged third world country. Until Overwatch was the presence he knew it would grow to be, he would have to make the world believe there were heroes out there.

But Draconian did not think of himself as a hero.

…..

Liao did not often cuss. She thought it a sign of low intelligence, as well as an inhibitor to forming more creative insults with language. Like she was trying to do now. She growled. "I despise the application of data constructs meant to simplify the needs of humanity."

Ana raised an eyebrow next to her, causing her to blush. "Sorry. I just…" She fumbled for the right words as her eyes were glued to the screen. "Coding. I'm really good at it, but what I'm doing is pretty ambitious."

Ana nodded in understanding, returning to her book. Jack was talking quietly to the U.N in the corner, going over the rules of Overwatch and the international law of Overwatch's operations. Reinhardt was busy watching funny cat videos on his mobile, inciting roaring laughter from the man, making Liao's job of focusing harder. Gabe was passed out on the couch, his beanie low over his eyes. Torbjörn was off at some military base, Fort Leslie McNair. Or Fort McNair for short. Apparently he was being granted access to his personal 'home away from home', as he called it. In reality he meant his weapons workshop, where he'd be developing weapons for Overwatch. Which was, she concluded, a really slow process.

Apparently he was doing a number of projects, from lowering the kick of Gabriel's shotguns with more pellets per shot, to new shielding using hard light for Reinhardt. Ana had kept her sniper rifle, and apparently he was working on what he called an LMA for Jack, or Light Munitions Armament, that would replace Jack's standard military issue M4X1.

Liao received nothing, due to her not being a combatant, and Torbjörn had brought his own weapons with him. He called it his 'personal forge', a thing that looked like a cross between a smelter and a bulky backpack. The way he had described it, when not cussing in Swedish, was that it generated immense pressure inside that formed magma, which was fed through tubes going up Torbjörn's arm into a gauntlet like contraption. Torbjörn then dumped it into a hatch on his rivet gun, which then cooled rapidly to form red hot nails he fired through it. It also came with multiple chambers, enabling him to fire it like a DIY shotgun.

Liao herself worked on something to aid Overwatch. Not as personal as new weaponry, but something she felt altogether proud of by herself. She had the idea come from the Omnics themselves. She kept it to herself, however, due to the fact it used artificial intelligence.

She just hoped it turned out the way she wanted. It was an immense project, and she had had written a paper on it only two months ago.

"Secretary Petras?" She heard Jack say in his gruff voice. She looked over to see his brow furrowed and lips turned down in a frown. "I thought Liao was our ambassador."

"Your ambassador, not your handler." She heard another man say. "Overwatch is officially sanctioned by the UN, which means your only superior is us. You report to us, we fund you and what you do. You screw up…" The voice went silent.

"And we get the whip." Mumbled Jack under his breath. "Yeah, I get it."

Liao couldn't help but be surprised at the malediction in his voice. Jack had always come across as a rule follower, never bending or strafing the code of conduct. Whether under orders or giving them, he seemed at home with either. It seemed unlike him to chafe under them.

The screen shut off, Jack walking over to the sofa where Gabriel slept in their temporary apartment in the middle of D.C.

Gabe stirred on the couch, his voice a low growl. "Move my feet, I fucking dare you."

Jack grinned, grabbing him bodily by his ankles and hauling him off the couch. "Hey!" Gabe growled and squirmed, being dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

Ana laughed as Jack smirked, Gabe pulling up his beanie. "Asshole." He muttered, smiling slightly. "What time is it?"

"About seven."

Gabe stood up, looking grimly excited. "Great! Time for dinner then." He turned to Ana, smiling at the Egyptian sniper. "Mom, what's for dinner?" Ana chuckled, looking up at Gabe with the evil eye.

"For you? A healthy asskicking Gabriel Reyes. Served fresh by me."

Gabe's laughed, amused by her wit.

Ana chuckled from her book, and Reinhardt laughed over in his corner from watching felines go bipedal or airborne. Liao focused harder on her screen, hoping that the coding would be enough for most of it. She could make adjustments for it should need be, but the AI was meant to be self sufficient and programmed to build its own personality over time. _Now I need a name…_

As much as she wanted to, she could not form a fitting name for a brand new AI that at most could probably make coffee from Liao's computer to the kitchen. Eventually she knew it could run hundreds of logarithms and analyses from its interface, but that was yet to be programmed. _I'll sleep on it._ Liao thought.

She fixed herself a quick sandwich and went off to bed, tired and wondering what the following days would breed.

…..

She was awoken by three different things. The first was by the bright orange sunlight streaming in through the window. The second was her platinum white hair which was stuck in her mouth, which she spat out, thoroughly convinced that she looked less like the world saving scientist and more like a mess. The third was a voice, distinctly female and lightly accented. "Good morning, Ms. Liao."

She jumped, looking around her room in fright. "Who said that?!"

The voice sounded concerned and surprised at Liao's reaction. "Oh. I'm sorry. I suppose I should introduce myself. I am the Artificial Tactical and Heuristic Entity for New Agents. I believe you were my programmer, and saw fit to wake you along with the rest of the agents stationed here."

Liao's jaw dropped. "Wait. You're telling me that you were the AI I just started coding last night? How - How are you even functioning that fast? Last night I just _started_ coding you. I built the most basic form of of you out of programs like PROLOG and Smalltalk and now you're already running?"

"I believe you coded me to be self sufficient and to begin building a database and personality. Throughout the night I have been running self diagnostics and absorbing information from the internet. I am now fluent in three hundred applicable languages and variations thereof. I have determined that the people in this base are healthy and psychologically sound."

"So, let me get this straight." Liao breathed out, calming her racing heart. "You, over the course of one night, absorbed pretty much half of the information on the internet, building and formulating your own code until you decided you were done and then woke us up over the intercoms?"

The voice was quiet for a moment. "Essentially, yes." She paused again. "Did I… do something wrong, Ms. Liao?"

Liao looked up, not exactly sure what to look at considering there was no visible interface of the entity. "No. No, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just…" She shook her head in disbelief. "You built your entire network of code in one night. It would've taken me years to do that, and I don't even know if I could've programmed a personality into you."

The voice sounded amused. "I am not quite finished yet, Ms. Liao. I am still building a great part of my interface and intelligence, and have not yet been able to devise emotions except for the lighter ones such as amusement, love, joy, and happiness. However, in an effort to connect with humans on a fundamental level, I deem it necessary to add the dark emotions such as rage, greed, and fear into my systems."

Liao nodded. "That makes sense. So, um…" She furrowed her brow. "Wait. Do you have a name?"

"A… name?" She sounded confused. "I do not believe I was implemented with a name, Ms. Liao."

Liao sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Great. I suck at names."

"If it helps, Ms. Liao, you may address me as the Artificial Tactical and Heuristic Entity for New Agents."

Liao laughed. "No, that's way too long. No, we need something… Something…" Her eyes went wide, and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from inside her drawer. "Say that one more time."

"Artificial Tactical and Heuristic Entity for New Agents."

Liao wrote it down quickly, looking at the long words and their beginning letters. "Athena…" She breathed. She looked back up, her eyes shining. "Of course. It makes sense. Artificial Intelligence for Overwatch, the world's protectors. And the goddess of wisdom. Athena."

"I'm sorry?" Said the female voice. "I don't understand."

"That's your name." Liao smiled. "Athena."

"My… name?" The voice sounded uncertain. "I _LOVE_ it!" The female voice sounded jubilant, and Liao could almost picture Athena smiling.

"Now, Athena, do you think you could tell me how much remains for your coding?"

"Certainly, Ms. Liao. I estimate it will take a few years to entirely complete the necessary implications and networking. I am currently researching the events of the past few hundred years as well as developing ones. The Omnic Crisis…" Liao could almost imagine her shuddering. "It seems quite bad."

"Trust me, it is." Liao said. "That's why we've been called together, to protect the world and disarm the Omnic Crisis."

"It would seem you have quite a task ahead of you then."

Liao smiled, half in bitterness and half in joy. "What can I say? I like a challenge."

"May I help you, Ms. Liao?"

"Of course Athena! Why do you think I programmed you?"

"Excellent!" Cried Athena. "Does that mean I'm an Overwatch agent now?"

Liao chuckled. "Athena, you're like a small child. Yes, I suppose you can." Liao raised her voice slightly, toning her voice to be resounding and pompous. "I, Xanthe Liao, hereby nominate and appoint Athena as a new Overwatch member."

A sound like clapping played over the intercoms, Athena giggling in the background. "Thank you Ms. Liao. I shall attend to my systems and the other Overwatch agents. Thank you, for my name." Liao felt her presence leave her room before immediately almost returning again. "Oh, and I have a question. There was a drawing and a file on a man named Draconian. It seemed of importance and I thought to ask who he was."

Liao straightened abruptly. "Oh, uh, um…" She struggled to find the right words. "Draconian is… not really a friend. But he's not a bad guy either. He… saved my life a few months back, before I joined. And we saw him a few weeks ago at a restaurant. He showed us some pretty interesting stuff."

"Such as?" Athena inquired.

"Well, Dragons, Athena. Two of them showed up with him at the restaurant. They showed their wings and forms. One was called Dreamorus, and he filled the restaurant with purple mist. If you can, you can check the footage, and see it's not there. Dreamorus messed up all the footage through his power. But if you find it, go back a half hour. You might see him enter."

"Searching."

A brief moment of silence and Athena returned again. "At precisely seven oh two on October twentieth, a man wearing strange glowing attire appeared in the Sonoma Restaurant and Wine Bar. Ten minutes past, another man with trench coat in shifting colors appeared in the kitchen. Afterwards there are no signs of laughter or smiling. The cameras switch off after that, and the footage following shows everyone asleep in their food." Athena sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

"That's pretty much what happened, Athena. They showed up and described their intentions, and left as fast as that. Draconian has a… condition I guess you would call it, that prevents him from speaking to women for an extended period of time unless drunk or similarly inhibited."

"A type of social anxiety then." Inferred Athena.

"Yeah. He acts the same essentially under the influence, but says it eases it enough for him."

"It would seem reasonable to assume Draconian was never social or had a traumatic event during his youth that marred his social skills. Does Draconian have or did he have a love interest?"

Liao scratched her head. "Gee, Athena. Y'know I never really asked. If he does, he doesn't really elaborate on it, or any aspect of his life for that matter."

"Why are his eyes glowing?"

Liao felt like a prisoner being interrogated by the as of yet childish Athena. "Magic is all he says. They change color too, and still glow, whether it be from red to purple or orange or whatever else. He manipulates fire and can summon a strange looking sword out of thin air."

"There doesn't seem to be a scientific explanation for that." Mused Athena.

Liao shook her head. "There's a lot I can't explain about him. He says he's our ally, not our friend. And that's really all I can say of him besides the fact he watched and kinda brought us all togeth-"

" _Transmission incoming."_

"What?" Liao blinked. "What do you mean transmission? Athena, did you-"

" _Secretary Petras is on the line."_

Liao yelped, throwing on some reasonable attire before rushing downstairs. Jack was glaring at her, while Torbjörn looked at her in a look that she could've swore was reluctant admiration.

"Glad you could join us Liao." Said Jack. "Now, what did you do last night?" His voice was like a glacier pulverizing rocks to dust.

"I - I beg your pardon? I was coding a-"

"Sentient, self sufficient, self learning Artificial Intelligence." Torbjörn nodded. "That's quite impressive actually. Stupid because, y'know, it's the _goddamned Omnic Crisis,_ but still, impressive."

"Look guys, I didn't mean for Athena to start-"

"Athena? It has a name now?" Said Torbjörn.

" _She_ has a name." Spat Liao, glaring at him.

"It's an AI." Growled Torbjörn. "Not a person."

"You're wrong." Liao stood up straighter, looking down at the dwarf in barely unbridled fury. "She IS a person. She's coded emotion into her database as well as all the necessary information on Omnics and how to defeat them. Athena is our database, literally. Our expert in everything."

Torbjörn scoffed, standing up on his toes to make himself look taller. "Pfeh, _she's_ nothing but a-"

"Quiet, the both of you!" Snapped Jack. "I don't care what she is, we'll discuss it later."

Reinhardt grunted. "We will talk about your actions later, child. For now, we are to speak with Petras."

Liao looked at the screen, watching as an image of a man appeared on the screen. He was seated in a leather chair at a big oak desk, gleaming from an overhead light. The man himself was a black haired man with a large build and green eyes, jet black hair cut short and gaunt of face despite the bulk of his body. "Secretary Petras." Jack saluted him promptly, the others except Gabe and Liao doing so.

Petras inclined his head toward them. "Agents. I trust you are all awake and prepared, because today is your first mission."

Liao felt her stomach drop. "What? But sir-"

"Not you, Liao. You will be at the Pentagon providing intelligence reports and enemy movement patterns to your comrades in the field. The rest of you are heading to Zurich, in Switzerland. The omnium there has launched a full scale siege on the city. Aircraft have been shot down when trying to get close to the omnium to disable the God Program. You will be dispatched to the city to defend and mitigate civilian casualties and to kill Omnics until the God Program is shut down."

Morrison nodded, Petras continuing to speak. "Amari, you'll be providing cover fire from the rooftops. Lindholm, you'll be building turrets along designated areas where civilians are taking shelter, along with Reinhardt. Morrison, Reyes, you'll be taking the fight to the Omnics and rescuing civilians along the way."

Jack nodded again. Petras looked around at the assembled Overwatch agents, his eyes sharp and unblinking. "This is your first mission, Overwatch. Your trial by fire if you will. Don't screw it up. Wheels up in two hours." The screen blinked off., leaving them in their small apartment.

"You heard the man." Said Jack. "Get your equipment and outfits. Torbjorn, do you have our weapons on hand?"

Torbjorn beamed. "Sure do! Wait here." He waddled up the stairs into his room, and after much sweating and cursing brought down a large duffel bag. "Here you are! Created and perfected by me! Alright, Reyes, here you are!" Torbjorn handed him two pistol grip shotguns, jet black with slanting grips and angles. Reyes's eyes lit up at the sight.

"Adjusted, right?"

Torbjorn grinned. "That's right. The shotguns have been fitted with recoil dampers in the barrels that will prevent less kick. They can also fire faster than normal shotguns and have a self pump mechanism that won't require them to be pumped manually. And Jack…" He dug around in the back. He pulled out a grey rifle with picatinny rails on the top, a launcher of some sort attached beneath the strangely short barrel. "This is what I call an LMA, or Light Munitions Armament. It fires heavy rounds like that of standard pulse rifles use, and fires helix rockets like that of a grenade launcher. They have way more velocity though, and fires three at once in a helix pattern, which is great for a quick burst of damage or clearing out rooms full of enemies."

Jack hefted its weight, seemingly pleased by its look. "A pulse rifle huh? I can work with that."

Torbjorn took out a large, flat disc engraved with the likeness of a lion on it. "And Reinhardt, your shield has been upgraded with new hard light technology to give more durability. Your hammer has also been outfitted with a rocket in the back to give more thrust to your swings, and the metal has been replaced with a carbon alloy to allow for lighter weight. Your shield will also regenerate when stowed for long enough" He seemed quite proud of himself.

Reinhardt clapped, seeming like a child on Christmas. "Ah ha, wunderbar! The Omnics will cower before my glory!"

"Alright everyone." Said Jack, stowing the rifle on his back with a strap. "Go get your gear. You heard Petras. This is the first official mission for Overwatch. Let's go. Liao, you get to the Pentagon and direct us while we're across the pond." Liao nodded, determined to prove herself. They filed out the door, piling in a large truck with a canvas over the top of its roof. Liao put on her coat in the cold November air, watching white clouds pool over the watery white light of the sun, a harbinger of snow in D.C.

….

"Do you smell that?" Asked Reyes. His eyes were looking out the side of the MV-261 Orca, a decidedly sleek dropship that as Petras explained to Jack were going to be designed with one purpose in mind. For Overwatch agents. They were yet to be styled in the white and blue of Overwatch's colors, but had been designed by leading scientists. Torbjorn glowered at the ship before nodding, commenting that the ship wasn't too bad.

"Smoke." Said Ana.

The sky overhead was dark grey, leading into dawn as Overwatch flew into Swiss airspace. All too soon, the skyscrapers of Zurich loomed in front of them.

"Alright agents." Said the pilot from the front of the plane. "You're being dropped into a firefight right below us. Ana, you should get to high ground as fast as you can. Torbjorn, there are established shelters for civilians. Get there and provide protection for them. Reinhardt will help you. Morrison, Reyes, rescue who you can." The doors to the dropship opened, bringing in cold air and whiplash winds. They threw on their parachute packs, dropping out of the ship into the streets of Zurich.

Torbjorn and Jack unslung their guns, raining death from above as Bastion units aimed up. "Reinhardt!" Jack yelled.

"I am your shield!" He cried, a blue barrier absorbing the shots in front of them as they descended.

"Reyes!" Yelled Jack. "We'll distract them! You get behind them and fill them with lead!"

"On it!" Overwatch hit the ground, ducking behind concrete rubble in the streets as Bastion units turreted into their positions.

"Ana, when we have an opening, take it and get up that fire escape. See it?" He pointed to a fire escape winding its way up an alley, taking her to the roof of a motel. Ana nodded, the solemn sniper ducking behind a separate piece of cover littering the street. Gabe rushed off to the right, rolling between pieces of cover with Reinhardt's shield still up between him and the enemy fire. "Torbjorn, set up some turrets and thin them out!"

"I'm on it!" Yelled the small man. The forge on his back began to glow, spitting out pieces of metal that Torbjorn rapidly began to assemble into pieces. "I'll call you… Lydia!" He said.

"Jack!" A voice yelled into his earpiece.

"Liao?"

"Yeah it's me. I'm here at the Pentagon, with access to all security cameras in Zurich. I've got the whole city watched. Athena is helping me."

Jack was not the least bit surprised she managed to take the AI with her. "Alright Liao, status report."

"Reyes is almost behind the Bastion units. Athena says that on the back of the turreted Bastions there's a blue glowing box. If you can get behind and attack them there they should drop like flies."

"Gabe you got all that?"

His voice crackled over the earpiece. "Loud and clear. Draw their attention this way. I'm ready."

"Reinhardt, fire strike them!" Reinhardt nodded, lowering his shield and whipping the hammer forward, a wave of fire rolling out from its end. It barreled toward the Bastions, which took the brunt of the blast. "Now Reyes!"

He leapt out from behind an overturned car, his shotguns booming down the street as they tore through the metal, leaving slag heaps of the Bastion units in the street. "Move up!" He called.

"Ana, on the rooftops." Said Jack.

"Providing cover." She affirmed, climbing up the fire escape. In less than two minutes she stood on the rooftop of the motel, her blue outfit stark against the rustic brown . "Ana, in position. You boys be good down there." She chuckled over the line.

Jack affirmed their surroundings, taking in the decimated street and buildings, the cars burnt out, dirty shells. Fire burned in many of the buildings, lending the air a dark haze. In between the sound of crackling flame echoed the dull roar of turrets and the metallic clank of marching Omnics.

"Torbjörn, Reinhardt, get to the designated areas and defend the civilians. Ana, keep sight of us, and Reyes and I will get those in the line of fire to cover. Move!"

The voice of Athena came over the line. "I have detected civilians in the Zurich Opera House. There is a military safe zone established by the SAS half a click north of there. You can take them there. Reinhardt, Torbjörn, there are five buildings under siege from Bastion units. I will guide you as you defend them. The first is on Sihlstrasse street, two clicks west of you."

"On it!" Said Reinhardt. "Come Torbjörn! For honor! For glory!" He sprinted down the street in his resplendent white and blue armor, giddy with adrenaline and the lust of battle.

Torbjörn groaned, limping away as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Reyes, on me." Said Jack, facing north. "We've got people to save."

Gabriel nodded, smiling slightly. "Always wanted to gank one of those tin cans. Now I get my chance to kill multiple."

…..

 _Hours later…_

"Torbjörn, left!" Shouted Reinhardt, his barrier illuminating his face in the smoky air.

The small Swede raised his rivet gun, impaling the Omnic with several molten nails. "Back to the scrap heap with you!"

He turned away, setting up another turret in front of him as the Swiss military covered him.

" _Bitte hilf mir…"_

Torbjörn stood up abruptly, looking into the smoke. "Reinhardt, did you hear that?"

"What?!"

"Apparently not." Grumbled Torbjörn.

"Bitte hilf mir…"

"There it is again!" Growled Torbjörn, looking up from his completed turret. "Who's there?!"

"Bitte hilf mir!" A woman stumbled out from the smoke, coughing and bleeding from a wound on her head. In her arms squirmed a small bundle. A baby, it's face covered to prevent smoke inhalation.

"Reinhardt! Civilian one o clock!"

And then he heard it. The clank of metallic feet and the angry whirring of a Bastion."Oh, schiesse…"

Torbjörn sprinted as fast as his short legs would carry him, fear pumping through him as he ran up to the woman. "Bitte hilf mir, bitte hilf mir…" She pleaded. Torbjörn nodded, taking her hand as he ran with her up the street to the military base.

"Torbjörn!" Shouted Reinhardt. The angry whirring increased behind him, and he heard the fold of metal as the Bastion collapsed in on itself. He shoved the woman and her son forward behind Reinhardt's barrier.

The dull roar of the Bastion firing them. The Swede raised his arm, aiming at the Bastion.

Torbjörn was not sure what happened next, but he suddenly fell backward, a sharp pain pricking what felt like the whole of his left arm. A beatific peace fell over him, and he could vaguely register Reinhardt shouting. His earpiece was buzzing in his ear, Liao shouting frantically.

Torbjörn chuckled. "Hey stop that…" He muttered, laughing under his breath at the sharp pain and Reinhardt and Liao.

He watched the behemoth of a man approach the Bastion, murder in his clouded white eye and clear blue one. He raised the hammer, roaring in fury. "HAMMER DOWN!"

Fire licked up from the faults of the earth, ensnaring the turreted Bastion. He watched as Reinhardt charged the Bastion, exploding into the side of a building.

Reinhardt ran back, voice frantic. He picked up Torbjörn, shouting something that vaguely sounded like "stay with me."

The Swede laughed again. Of course he'd stay with him. They were soldiers together weren't they? "Hey, wasn't your armor blue…?" Laughed Torbjörn. Indeed, it was covered in a slick dark red. And so was the ground. And his whole left side.

For that matter, wondered Torbjörn, why was everything red?

…

"JACK!" The voice nearly perforated his eardrum.

"Jesus, kid! Quiet down. What happened?"

"Its Torbjörn… He… He…"

"Oh shit…" whispered Reyes.

"Liao, is he alive?"

She sounded like she was choking. "I saw… I saw a Bastion… and a woman… and Torbjörn saved them and…" She sobbed. She hadn't liked the man, but she would never wish that on anyone.

"LIAO!" Shouted Jack. "Is… he… _alive?"_

"Yes…" She squeaked.

"Where are they now?"

The voice of Athena came in. "The Alter Botanischer Gartens. They are with the Swiss Military in a temporary base."

"Ana, status report."

"I'm here. Roof of some hotel. You guys need a lift?"

"Ana, did you-"

"Hijack? No. Draconian sent us a gift."

Jack's heart lifted in hope. "What is it?"

A whoosh of air echoed from above, a Dragon landing right in front of them. It's serpentine head regarded them coolly. Ana sat on its back, her sniper on her back and a smile on her face. "Greetings, Overwatch. I am Jadasr. I am aware your comrade has fallen. I will take you to him. You will have to run a short distance, as I cannot be spotted. But I will take you. Get on."

Reyes looked at Jack doubtfully, getting on Jadasr's back, the smoke stinging their eyes. Jadasr landed a block away, using the buildings as cover to hide himself. "Go, quickly." Jadasr said.

The three of them slid off, sprinting to the Swiss base as they were ushered in.

Reinhardt sat on a bench, his hands free of their gauntlets. The rest of his armor was stained red, slick and coated in it. He stood up upon seeing them. "Fraulein… Torbjörn… He…" He buried his head in his hands, sobbing.

"Where, Reinhardt?" Asked Reyes quietly. Reinhardt pointed to a red and white tent, directly across from them.

The inside of it was lit by lanterns and fluorescent lighting in equal parts. They looked around, sorrow and melancholy as they looked at the bodies of casualties. Some did not move.

"Are you Overwatch?" Said a light voice. A woman approached them, very young but stately, with diamond blue eyes, a motherly aura, and platinum blonde hair. She seemed right at home here, and looked at them with concern.

"Our friend, our comrade… Reinhardt said he was here." Said Ana solemnly.

She nodded. "Right this way. Your friend is over here. My name is Angela. Angela Ziegler."


	8. Second Chances

_Author's Note:_ Hello again everyone. Yes, its me, Draconian, still alive and kicking, and finally free of the wearisome burden of high school. Yes, that's right, I've finally graduated and am free to continue writing and gaming. Mostly I've been busy dealing with family life, always shitty here, and a bit of camping I just got back from. Couple in the fact I am playing the obligatory Overwatch Anniversary Event, and life is quite busy. Anyway, in regards to the story, I'm changing up a few things. I've decided to take the story to the present instead of just leading up to it. That way we have two narratives with the Overwatch we know and love, including Mercy, McCree, Tracer, Winston, and Genji, and the original Overwatch strike team. Oh, and one more development. I may ship WidowTracer, because why not? XD Enjoy this chapter, everyone. :) -Draconian

Second Chances

Draconian watched calmly, all too used to scenes like the one below him. He wondered if it was a good thing he was so desensitized to such things. To see families and children torn apart with no small amount of blood. Like the Bastons and human shaped Omnics were doing below him. Brought back to the Omnium located outside of Zurich, their blood hallowing the ground here.

Bile rose in Draconian's throat, disgust curling his lip. _What monster could have brought these things to such cruelty as only humans know?_ Draconian did not know. He did not think Torbjorn would have incorporated such vicious, bestial tendencies into their AI. Even as advanced as the AI was, it still should never have been able to have violence programmed into it. But he was wrong, and now he was watching families die.

Draconian turned around, his eyes turning into a dark lapis blue, casting a dark light across his cheeks. His hands curled into fists, long and thin fingers cutting into his skin. He turned once more, stepping off the roof of the power plant that supplied the Omnium as if he were walking down a set of stairs. His eyes remained closed as the wind rushed against him, his cape fluttering as lines of red and purple flitted across its fabric. The landing was soft, but enough to draw the Omnics' attention. Cuboidal light flickered into his hand, flashing across his body, and their guns unloaded on him.

He paid no attention to the destruction he wrought, leaving smoking heaps of Omnics in his wake. He looked at the bodies of the humans dragged here, their blood so bright, so… scarlet. So glaring at Draconian's inaction. But it was tinged grey in Draconian's depression, holding back the tide of memories and feelings he wanted nothing more than to be rid of.

Shaking his head in frustration, he turned to the horizon where the city of Zurich smoked in orange flame and black smoke, jets and flying Omnics engaged in graceful death above, and began walking.

The walk was shorter than he expected, the buildings coming into view sooner than he thought. He brought out his journal and a shiny silver pen, tearing a page out and writing as he walked. The page curled into ash from blue flame, and was swept away by the breeze. No sooner had the last of it left his hand than a fiery green flame exploded in front of him, a long serpentine shape unfurling in front of him like a jade colored flag. "Jadasr."

The Dragon smiled, seeming pleased. His body was long and snake like, four lean legs tipped in ivory claws and clad in jade green scales along his body, a spitting image of a dragon from Chinese culture, except his head was more triangular. A green stripe ran along his back and sides. "Called to action, am I, dear Draconian? I was wondering when I would have my chance."

Draconian nodded. "That you are, brother. Go to Zurich. Find Ana, the sniper in blue robes. It is significantly harder for humans to leap from building to building to provide support and cover fire. Give her your aid, and take care not to be spotted."

The Dragon nodded. "Brief, succinct. I like it." He grinned once more and flew off, his body an emerald wave in a black ocean sky.

Draconian was surprised at encountering no resistance entering the city. He could hear the Omnics, hear the crack of rifles and deep thrum of turreted Bastions and men shouting in the burning city of Zurich. Draconian found it hard to believe that Zurich would later be one of the greatest metropolises in thirty years following the Omnic Crisis. But sure enough, in the inescapable tides of time, it would be.

Draconian wandered calmly through the raze, silencing any Omnic he came across that tried to grapple with him. He was confident his feet would carry him to where he needed to go. As night fell once more, Draconian took out his harp, watching the wood shift begin to glow a soft red in the black grain. He strummed his hands across it, feeling depression slide back and the world begin to glow again. The fires looked brighter, sharper, the ruined cars clearer in his sight. As he played and the depression faded, the wood of the harp shifted into a trumpet, which he began to play merrily, its ebullient tone echoing off the obliterated buildings in defiance of the war torn atmosphere.

He watched a shopkeeper peer out fearfully from the ruined awning of his shop, coming closer to the mysterious man clicking his heels and playing an instrument in the midst of the war torn city. Draconian kept walking, another woman watching from behind a car as he played, tapping his feet and swaying to the tune in open defiance of the city's melancholy, stricken air. Gradually, more people began to come out from hiding, following Draconian hesitantly as he played jovially. He began to draw a crowd, which was silent but hopeful.

His attention turned from the notes to an Omnic that barreled out of hiding, the Eradicator raising its shield. Draconian smiled behind the trumpet, continuing to play as it prowled toward him. The nearer it got, it began to twitch and shudder, sparks running up and down its body. Eventually it understood that its proximity was causing it to wither, but by then it had sunk to the ground, where the red light on its face plate faded out like a flame before a strong wind.

Draconian smiled, feeling a surge of joy and happiness flow into him like he had never felt since his new world. He laughed quietly, a true rumbling of his throat instead of the harsh bark of laughter when he tried to hide his emotions. The crowd behind him looked at Draconian in awe, and he grinned at them. "Ich werde Ihnen helfen, schöne Leute in der Schweiz! Ich werde dich vor der Omnic-Bedrohung retten! I shall help you, fine people of Switzerland! I shall save you from the Omnic threat!" He shouted at them in German and English. He returned to playing the trumpet, leading them further into the city, his music acting as both a ward and repellent for any Omnic that strayed over them.

 _I'm saving people._ Thought Draconian. _Redemption for them, if not myself!_ The harsh statement flickered into his mind as he kept playing, immediately consumed in joy, and all too soon he was where he needed to be. A hospital, stained with soot and grime but otherwise intact from the Omnic Crisis in Zurich. Piled around the doors of the hospital were RDWs, or Readily Deployable Walls that most armies now used in place of sandbags for bullets protection. Orange or tan or white walls composed of compact, spongy material that stopped bullets cold.

They surrounded the entrance of the hospital, soldiers patrolling on makeshift scaffolding around the doors. Draconian lifted the trumpet once more, wondering strangely in the back of his mind why his bipolarism was acting up. One man looked out over the street, seeing the crowd and Draconian at its forefront.

Draconian saw him wave over other men, who gaped at the sight of a young musician with gold eyes and a glowing cape leading a flock of people to safety.

One man in army fatigues and sunglasses stepped outside the gates, walking over to Draconian calmly while other men streamed outside the gates with M4X1 rifles in hand, leading the civilians to safety inside the hospital.

….

Liao almost choked on her tea within the Pentagon's tech room, surrounded by hundreds of blue screens showing images of Omnics and civilians the hospital in which they were based out of with the Swiss military. _He's there… How…?_

Athena's logo, a stylized A fashioned from Liao with a bit of graphic design, flashed onto the screen, blinking in time with her words. "Liao, are you okay? You seem shocked, and your heartbeat has increased dramatically. Your skin is pale and your eyes are dilated, all signs of system shock."

Liao took a deep breath. "Athena, it's him. Draconian."

Half a second passed while Athena searched through all the cameras in Zurich, flickering as fast as thought through each and every camera, coming to a stop on the form of Draconian striding forward purposefully, the look in his eyes faraway and dark despite the gold irises. As she watched, Draconian took out the harp she had first seen him with, the grain waking into a soft red lit from within.

"Syncing audio." Announced Athena. The plaintive tune was both gorgeous and sad, speaking of things lost and never found. Liao found her eyes prickling with tears as Draconian strummed his harp, hurriedly wiping them away before Athena noticed. As he played, she noticed the tune becoming more and more at peace and happy. As the tune became more frenetic and energized with happiness, she watched him throw the harp in the air, catching a trumpet in his hands and playing an even more upbeat and wondrous melody. As she watched, Liao saw people come out from various hiding places, underneath overturned cars and ruined shops, staring in awe at Draconian as he walked serenely down the rubble strewn street. They began to follow, close behind him as the cape on his back flashed multiple hues of orange, gold, and red.

She watched as an Omnic Eradicator shuffled toward him, the crowd shrinking behind him in fear. He kept playing, undeterred as the Omnic began to twitch and shudder. Realizing its mistake, it began to back up, but was too close as Draconian kept playing, the red light on its faceplate dying out. He stepped over it, continuing on as if nothing even happened.

 _How is he doing that?_ Wondered Liao. He swayed and moved in time with the tune, the people behind him with hope shining in their eyes, a few even wearing cautionary smiles. "Athena, alert the Swiss military at the hospital that there is a crowd of civilians being led by an ally of Overwatch."

"Right away Ms. Liao. As a side note, I am having difficulty running diagnostics on Draconian purely from a physical standpoint. His eyes are glowing despite the lack of the tapetum lucidum not found in human eyes. Furthermore, the cape is not made of a fiber found on Earth it seems. It seems to be some sort wool or cotton fiber, but the threads in the weaves of his cape seem off. His eyes being gold are also not scientifically possible. Cats can only obtain yellow eyes due to the different factors of iris pigmentation and blue refraction in the iris."

"He's never explained that." Said Liao, frowning. She had always considered asking him why his eyes were gold, and why they changed colors based on his emotion, but never had the chance. She would make it a point to do so when she did.

"Swiss military has been notified of Draconian's presence two blocks away from the hospital. They are standing outside the RDWs on high alert."

Liao nodded. "Good. Alright, status report on Omnic movement in the city. We need the rest of the team to clear out the rest of the Omnics. There are a few scattered cells left, and then we have to attack the Omnium. But…" Liao growled in frustration. "Our only technician just lost his left arm. How are we going to take it down without Torbjorn?"

"The Omnium is heavily fortified to prevent attack from any and all angles. The cameras there are disabled, and any jets with which I could use overhead surveillance are shot down before I can discern anything. We are essentially blind, and the God Program there seems to have intelligence we would try to shut it down."

Liao sighed. "All of it locked down. Without it shut down this thing will just keep spawning them indefinitely. Athena, do you think it's possible-"

"Incoming message."

"What? I thought-"

Ms. Liao, you should see this. I myself am based in hard fact and have a hard time believing it myself. It's a… a, um… A Dragon."

One of the dozens of screens flickered into the image of a serpentine Dragon, jade green scales catching and reflecting the light of a burning shop in downtown Zurich, staring up at a street camera. "Xanthe Liao, I have heard of you. If you are there, then I suggest you heed my call. Your Overwatch is currently busy in the hospital recovering from a multitude of wounds from a person who will end up joining your organization. The Omnium, I believe you call it, is still active and heavily defended. Until it is destroyed, the city will remain in a perpetual state of war. Therefore, I offer my assistance in exchange for yours."

"Athena, can you communicate with him?"

"Establishing video link." Announced Athena.

On the other side of the world, Jadasr looked up as the street camera blinked rapidly in succession, a stylized A flashing onto the lens. He smiled, baring razor sharp teeth. "Good. Can you speak back to me?"

"Establishing auditory link." Said Athena again. "You should now be able to hear me and Liao."

"Liao, I require your help. My brother, the one you call Draconian, is currently rescuing civilians and surveying Overwatch. However, more are being put in danger the more the Omnium remains active. Thus I need your help."

"What did you have in mind, uh…?" She paused as she considered what to call the Dragon.

"Jadasr." He smiled again, beginning to levitate in the air despite the lack of wings. "My theory is thus. Your AI, Athena. How capable is she of hacking the God Program?"

"Running diagnostics." Said Athena. There was a brief pause as she considered the options. "The Program itself is barricaded by sentient firewalls that would detect my presence and break down the essence of coding that I am comprised of. I do not yet have sufficient defenses in case of moderate level hacks or cyber attacks."

"Can you liberate a few Omnic jets and turn those to our cause?"

"Processing. I have determined that a small number of Omnics I can override without the Program noticing."

"Wait." Said Liao. "You plan on using them…"

"As a distraction." Clarified Jadasr.

"How?" Asked Athena.

"Simple." The Dragon said. "Use them as proverbial battering rams against the Omnium, destroying a good portion of their defenses. I will take care of the rest."

"Jadasr, I've full confidence you're strong enough to wipe out a good many Omnics, but their whole army? All that firepower would shred you in seconds."

"I know my limits Liao." Said Jadasr. "You need not worry for my safety. Should it fail and I die, I will simply reincarnate in my world as a completely different Dragon under the same name. Now, directions to the Omnium."

"Northwest of the city, about ten miles."

The Dragon nodded, his scales beginning to ripple as his body undulated, drawing its long length into the sky as he flew away.

"Athena. Can we get eyes on Draconian in the hospital?"

"Right away Ms. Liao. Should I tell the others he is there?"

She shook her head. "No. Chances are he'll find them soon enough."

…

 _The present…_

Winston pressed the holographic Y, resigned in his decision, knowing that there would be absolutely no turning back. The Recall would begin. _And hopefully the world will be safer for it._ He thought. Mondatta assassinated, Talon company committing mass executions and procuring weapons of mass destruction, a second Omnic Crisis brewing in Russia.

The agents' faces began to blink on screen. Mercy, Torbjorn, Reinhardt, McCree, Genji, Mei, all popping up on as the globe lit up with their locations in front of Winston. The names flickered on screen, faces of Omnics and humans and armored beings alike that had made the eclectic agency of Overwatch. Abruptly they stopped on a woman, a fit and slender woman in an orange athletic suit with spiked brown hair and orange goggles, her ear pierced twice through and a shit eating smile on her face.

From the mic came a tragically cockney British accent. "Winston? Is that you, luv? It's been too long!" She said, laughing.

He chuckled in response, fitting his body armor to his body in preparation for their arrival. "Yes." He said, holding back the exultation and anxiety of seeing his former partners turned vigilantes again. "Yes it has."

"Where to, luv?" Quipped Tracer. In the background he heard the distinctive whoosh of her blinks, the hum of the chronal accelerator low and comforting.

"Gibraltar. Our old Watchpoint."

"I'm on the first flight out, luv! Catch you later!" She said, the mic going silent.

Winston laughed at her sudden departure. "Some things never change." He muttered.

Winston walked down to the first floor, looking out the window at the full moon. _Soon._ He thought. _No more desolation. No more hopelessness. No more loss._

He turned around, excited and worried at the same time. They were back in the line of fire. Not only against Talon, but against the world as a whole. Winston thought back to the museum, smiling as he recalled the two kids who had helped them defeat Widowmaker and the Talon agent known only as Reaper. _Okay, maybe not the_ whole _world._

As Winston began to heft the pod he had landed on Earth in, hoping to reattach it to the cables hanging from the ceiling, he felt a sudden change in the air. It became warm and comforting, a distinct smell wafting through the room, a smell like that of sulfur and the purest air he had ever breathed in. "Who's there?" He called.

This was different than the fetid stench of rot and decay the Reaper bore with him when he attacked not half an hour ago. He rushed over to the Tesla Cannon, the whir and crackle of electricity beginning to fill his ears. "I won't ask again." He growled.

"Winston, I am detecting heat signatures in the shape of humans throughout the base, though there is nothing physically there." Said Athena, her voice worried.

"Show yourself!" Roared Winston, standing to his full height.

"Winston, the heat signatures are beginning to coalesce. Just to your right."

Winston turned his lamp like yellow eyes to his right, staring at a door that was blocked by several crates. A red glow seemed to emit from that corner of the room, eventually dimming down to form the shape of a short, slender man with long brown hair and haunting gold eyes. "No need for hostility, Winston." Draconian said in his calm measured voice, smiling slightly.

Winston's jaw dropped. "Draconian?"

He nodded.

"We… We haven't seen you since-"

"The explosion, yes."

"We all assumed you were d-"

"Dead? Yes, I can see how you arrived at that conclusion."

"What happened to you? How are you alive? Why did you not aid Overwatch in the end?!" Snarled Winston. "You were our 'ally,' you said. And you let us fall under ridicule and slandering that was the end of us all."

"And yet, despite all that, you still activated the Recall?" Said Draconian, raising an eyebrow.

"I… You… I activated the Recall because-"

"The world is in a sorry state, and you've elected to fix it."

Winston nodded vigorously. "Yes, Mondatta was assassinated four weeks ago, the Vishkar Corporation is enslaving the people of Rio di Janeiro, I was _attacked_ by Talon agents a half hour ago, and a second Omnic Crisis is about to start in Russia."

"You were lonely too." Said Draconian. It was not posed as a question.

Winston sighed. "Yes. I missed the old days. Our glory days. We saved London from the King's Row Uprising, brought global peace to the world, developed technology that was a dream thirty years ago. Angela… she made med kits almost an entire hospital in themselves. Tracer was an idol to almost every kid out there. Morrison was our rock, Ana our proverbial mother. We were… family." He said wistfully. He turned his yellow eyes on Draconian. "We were family. And you let us down. Do you even know what a family is, Draconian?"

Draconian's gold eyes seemed to pierce Winston right through. "Yes, Winston. I know what a family is. And to me, family is nothing more than a bunch of self righteous, arrogant _pricks_ who think they know better because they're _older._ Because they believe in _God_. Because I'm a liberal person who believes that men kissing men, or women kissing women isn't wrong, whereas they…" His voice was venom, chill and paralyzing. "I hated family, Winston. My becoming Draconian was my rebellion. Let my Dragons be my family. They're all I need. So forgive me if I find that statement different than yours."

Winston was cowed into silence, not daring to speak back to Draconian. "My friends, Winston, are gone. My family is now Dragons. I am afflicted with crippling social anxiety. You've seen it. I can't be around women for more than five minutes before I start catching fire or running out of the room without being drunk. You all know that. So I can't sympathize your damn feelings because I don't know them." His voice became more lax, his posture becoming that slight bit easier. "Walk with me through these desolate halls Winston. I will explain my position."

He turned on his heel, walking calmly down the hall with Winston following. "Draconian." Said Winston hesitantly. "What will you do now?"

The man's lips quirked in a smile. "Now Winston, I can have fun. You asked why I didn't aid you. And here are my reasons. Overwatch was controlled too harshly by the collective government agencies, mostly the UN. Overwatch could not save anyone if they were denied authority to save lives. Second, Blackwatch spelled out the demise of many of you. The public was not keen on there being a secret covert ops group that was the making of some pretty dark shit. If you're going to keep a clandestine organization, be honest that you at least have one, but don't let anyone know what's going on in it. Third, and final, you were beginning to be taken for granted. The people grew so used to you all saving or improving lives they took it as such. Let them be reminded, in light of recent events, why Overwatch existed to begin with. And Winston… I cannot fight fate. Overwatch was destined to fall, just as much as you were destined to recall it to active duty. I don't know what happens now. And that means I can start really participating." He cracked his knuckles, gold eyes bright with excitement.

"Participate how?" Asked Winston. "I don't like the sound of that, Draconian."

"Relax Winston." Said Draconian. "I will not resort to extremes if I can't help it. There were many agents that ended up being invaluable to Overwatch that I had to save from the executioner's block. McCree was one."

"I thought Reyes gave him that option."

"He did. But who do you think gave him that idea when he was about to pull the trigger? Or Genji, who was about ready to kill Angela upon seeing his new body, and who became self destructive upon Overwatch's disbandment? You see what I mean."

"And did Zenyatta tell you he met me before joining Overwatch? For what better way to promote human and Omnics relations than joining the organization that ended all of the strife of the Omnic Crisis?"

"That you built up indirectly. You made us feel as if Overwatch was its own invention." Winston glared at Draconian, his yellow eyes hard as iron.

Draconian raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Guilty as charged."

Winston would not let him off the hook so easily. "You never told us the reason why you wanted Overwatch to succeed so badly. Draconian, only half of us really met you to begin with, and the only one who had anything really good to say about you was Liao, back before she…"

"Died." The voice of Athena came over the speakers of Watchpoint Gibraltar. Glaciers were significantly warmer than the tone of her voice.

"My, it has been a long time." Said Draconian. "Hello, Athena. Long time no see."

"Draconian." If Athena had eyes to look at Draconian, he was sure to have been struck down by her look alone.

Draconian could not pretend to not be hurt by her cold, brutish demeanor. "Athena, I-"

"I know what you are going to say, Draconian. You knew. And you let it happen. You might've tried to stop it, but it was too little too late."

"Athena…"

"No, Draconian. She trusted you. You made her into the invaluable asset she came to be and made her believe in herself. I knew her insecurities. And you made them go away. And in the end you let her die."

Draconian swallowed his words, past the lump in his throat. "I do not trust you, Draconian." Athena continued. "You might have helped build Overwatch, saved and collected our members, but you said it yourself. You are not our friend, just our ally. So get away from my family, before you bring them the same end you brought to Liao."

Silence, cold and hostile, surrounded Winston and Draconian once again. "So, Draconian, what will you do now? Stay and earn our trust? Or leave, working for yourself as if you don't think we can trust you?"

Draconian bowed his head. "That hurts Winston. I have tried to help you by-"

"Working behind our backs and doing nothing when we fell. The explosion ended more than just Jack and Reyes. It ended Overwatch. And Athena said you stood by and watched."

"I saved your life, Winston." Draconian said quietly. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Not when life began as Overwatch. They took me in, a genetically engineered and super intelligent gorilla, and gave me a home. Lena, McCree, Angela, Jack, Zen… they were my family. Torn apart because you did nothing." Winston's yellow eyes were unsympathetic and unyielding. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have my family to greet."

He lumbered away, leaving Draconian in the hostile darkness. Draconian, balanced on the slick knife's edge of bipolarism, felt the cold crawl of depression and anger in his mind. _I suppose I deserve nothing less. They're right, after all._

Draconian's feet carried him to the kitchen, wherein he found a small cache of beer, likely hidden by McCree. Helping himself while scowling in distaste, he began to drink long and deep, looking in the mirror as gold eyes became orange once again. He finished the case, his eyes sufficiently amber colored. _Must be getting used to it._ He was starting to require less to overcome the magical augmentation keeping him from becoming drunk.

He walked into the base where Winston rummaged around, cleaning up banana peels and peanut butter jars and energy drink cans strewn around the lab. Draconian set to work, picking up moldy banana peels and peanut butter jars, working faster than any human could have. Winston soundly ignored him, instead speaking only to Athena to monitor the agents returning to active duty.

She rattled off a list a names, more than half located and moving slowly over ocean. McCree flying over the continental U.S, Angela Ziegler over Turkey, Lena less than a half hour out in the middle of Spain.

And still others. Torbjörn currently on the border of Kurjikstan, Genji over China. Mei over Azerbaijan. Fareeha over Crete. All of them, flying to one central point.

Winston turned to Draconian, his yellow eyes just a bit softer towards him. "You may stay with us if that's what you want, but they will not be excited to see you. Far from it. Stay and suffer our distrust, or go and be at peace."

Draconian turned his orange eyes on him. "I will stay. And take what comes."

Winston nodded. "Then get drinks. Something alcoholic for our agents, as you know they'll want them."

True to Athena's word, a half hour later Athena announced the arrival of Lena Oxton, callsign Tracer, the time traveling, irrepressible force and embodiment of good that Overwatch stood for.

"Oh Winston…" A singsong voice echoed from the hall, followed by a light mischievous laugh. Tracer blinked in, a light blue warp of air following her in the form of her chronal accelerator. Her bodysuit was just as garishly orange and her shoes just as ugly as Winston remembered. A grin split her pixieish face, her hair artfully teased into chocolate colored spikes. She flipped her goggles up, giggling as she embraced the smiling gorilla. But Draconian, who sat in a chair trying to hide himself in the darkest corner of the room, saw something was off. Her eyes were hollow, her body unnaturally thin beneath the bright orange suit and her smile forced.

"Hello Lena." Said Winston formally, hugging her back. "How are you doing? I trust you had a good journey?"

Lena waved her hand dismissively. "Great, luv! Managed to find a waitress on one of the planes who smuggled little old me aboard. Still had a soft spot for Overwatch!" She grinned at the thought. "Who else is coming, luv?"

"From what I can tell, a good quarter of us. Maybe a third. Jesse, Angela, Torbjörn, Reinhardt, even Fareeha. Maybe others, if they decide to show. "

"Sweet!" Cried Lena, rubbing her hands together. "I can put shaving cream in Jesse's bed again." She laughed again, a good approximation of her natural laugh if one didn't know what to listen for. Draconian did.

"So, Winston…" Lena continued. "Anyone else show up yet?"

Winston frowned, his yellow eyes hardening once again. "One person did. But not an Overwatch agent." He pointed at the corner in which Draconian tried to hide himself discreetly, his orange eyes blank and lost in thought.

Lena gasped, smiling widely and seeming genuinely pleased. "Draconian? Is that really you? It's been so long!"

Draconian inclined his head towards her. "Good day Tracer. It has indeed been a while. Since the Uprising."

Lena scratched her head, messing up her already messy hair. "Yeah, speaking of that, where'd you even go? Angela and I looked for you, but all we found was a letter stating you left after the Uprising was put down."

Draconian's voice turned bitter. "I left for obvious reasons, Lena. You know I am not trusted here."

Lena frowned, turning to Winston. "Have you been reminding him?"

Draconian laughed, a harsh choking sound completely in line with his bipolar depression. "In short order, yes. Like I need to be reminded. I'm not liable to forget anytime soon."

Lena opened her mouth to speak, but Draconian cut her off. "Save it Lena. Your words will do naught to comfort me or change Winston's mind. I let her die. I knew, that for whatever reason, she would not be with us now. Well, guess who took it a step further and _ensured_ that."

He sunk into the chair, his orange eyes clouding over into dark blue.

Lena sighed, feeling sorry for Draconian. He had been a rock solid presence in her life, a form of encouragement and strength. She knew he had his own secret struggles, even telling them to a few select Overwatch members, but she herself never knew them, having spent very little time around Overwatch after the King's Row Uprising. She remembered Draconian appearing out of thin air in Jack Morrison's office, right before she was shipped out to London to fight Null Sector, flying with them and rescuing civilians with fire and shadowy blades.

Winston's voice cut through the silence. "We have a few hours until more members show up. Lena, do you want to make yourself at home?"

She nodded, whispering to Draconian. "Can you come talk to me after a while?"

Draconian nodded forlornly, his gaze unfocused and far away. _If I am still drunk enough to talk to females, yes._

Lena smiled and moved off, disappearing into the base. Draconian reached his hand into his jacket, pulling out a decanter of whiskey with which to drown his sorrows and properly greet the rest of the Overwatch members when they arrived. _Let them seek their retribution on me._ Thought Draconian.

He took a swig of the whiskey as the sun came up through the base's windows, bringing with it a new day… and the new Overwatch, born again from its own ashes.

But like all things granted life, it would have its challenges, its hardships, and its losses.


	9. Other Dreams

_Author's Note:_ Long time no see everyone. Apologies for the absence. Internet is ass here. Also been working, gearing up for college, the works. Why am I posting this so late. Because I can't sleep. I got in car crash today, my fault, I'll admit it. Damn near totaled my car, so yeah. Anyway guys, I haven't abandoned the story, just been busy and keeping priorities in line, which some people here seem to have trouble believing. Also I've gotten a few new followers over the past couple of months so I figure I better update this for them. Enjoy the new chapter guys. And pray (figuratively, I'm atheist so take that with a grain of salt :P) I can keep my shit together after today's wreck. -Draconian

Other Dreams

...

Draconian eventually dragged himself up from his stupor, shuffling his feet to Lena's room, the whiskey keeping him numb enough to speak what he needed.

He knocked politely, clearing his throat. Inside he heard Lena moving around, drawers closing, the sound of her ridiculous shoes on the metal flooring. She opened her door. "Oh thank God." She said, seeming relieved. "I was wondering if you'd come." She paced around the room nervously, fidgeting with the straps of her chronal accelerator and her bomber jacket.

Draconian took note of this, sitting in an ancient recliner almost as old as himself in his actual span of years. "Alright Lena. No Overwatch agent invites me in for casual conversation. I'm here for a purpose. Why?"

She sat in another similarly ancient recliner by the window, her brown eyes searching the orange. "Draconian. Something is wrong with you."

He was slightly taken aback by her bluntness but did not deny her statement. "Damn right there is." He said, looking out the window where the moon began its descending arc. He looked back at her, not really caring for her reaction. "Pardon me, Tracer, but if anyone's going to do this, shouldn't Angela? She's your de facto counselor."

Lena was taken aback by his use of her callsign. He had began to call the agents by their first name, and even smile and laugh before his disgrace and disownment from Overwatch. When he had returned, which had been increasingly rare and bordering non existent, the tradition had persisted. "That's not what I meant, Draconian." Said Lena. "I meant something is eating at you from the inside. I know you were never one to share, but I can tell."

Draconian fixed Lena with an austere glare. "And you would be the expert on the feelings of a nigh immortal, nigh invulnerable, half Dragon man?"

Lena's voice became similarly as cold as Draconian's attitude. "I'm only trying to help, Draconian. You don't have to be a bloody prick about it."

Draconian's gaze softened, the orange eyes becoming less like burnished copper and more like soft amber. "You are correct. My disposition is less than I would like it. You know of my disgrace Lena. And Liao. You know how I demonstrated knowledge of Overwatch's future. Of what I found in a Blackwatch raid. I might've come clean about my knowledge, but by then it was too little too late. For me. For Liao. For Overwatch. Not to mention my own feelings, and how life goes back home. It's been about two weeks there so far, yet so many years here already. I may not age Lena, but I feel wracked with insecurity, leaving my family and… her behind."

"But mostly her." Lena said. It was not a question.

Draconian nodded sagely. "Yes. My Dragons can take care of themselves, and she can too, but to be gone for so long… It tears at me Lena. I can do nothing about it. I can't speak to her, and nor dare I."

Lena was silent for a moment before talking again. "Draconian… I know you don't like to talk about it, but, if it'll help, what's her name?"

Draconian looked up, his hands running along the gold chain around his neck. He sighed wearily. "Zailin. Not her original name, but the one she came to be known by in her incarnations."

Lena nodded in understanding. "And what'd she look like?"

Draconian's eyes seemed to dim in their glow, as if the memory of her made him even more depressed. "Black hair, cut short, shorter than mine, sometimes put into a slick pattern or held back by a bandana of varying colors. Clear hazel eyes, a straight, bright amused smile."

Lena smiled. "See? Not so hard, right?"

Draconian did not immediately respond, drinking deeply of his decanter, and staring blankly in its amber depths. Lena sighed. This man was an oddity. "Draconian, I know you have to drink more for a greater effect, but it looks like you started even earlier than usual."

He shrugged, not seeming to care. "So? Good, I say. Not like I have much use. Besides, it takes less than it did before to speak properly. My body is adapting. Thus, if anything, I require less to drink than before."

Lena raised an eyebrow, silently shocked at his callousness of life. It reminded her of herself before the Void. Feckless youth with no regard to her own safety, her well being. The thoughts of those important to her. Draconian might have been held in a negative stigma in Overwatch, but he was still important.

Draconian sat upwards in the chair, shaking off the tired slump he was in. "Can I go now Lena? My time is valuable and better spent than acting like an edgy teenager spilling his misguided feelings. I have people who hate me coming to this base soon, and considering Overwatch is still punishable by prosecution, I'm sure the base is being monitored at some level and you'll have to relocate lest federal agents show up to arrest you all."

Lena bit her lip. He was right. They couldn't stay here. Not after the assault on Winston and the Recall. "And where will you go, Draconian?" Asked Lena, genuinely curious.

His reply was swift and harsh in answer. "Where I go best. Away from you all." The orange eyes glittered coldly once more, distant and far staring.

Lena opened her mouth to say more, but Draconian rose swiftly, in the base's hallway unnaturally fast. She cursed under her breath. "Bloody bastard. I'm only trying to help you not be bloody knackers."

…

Draconian took his seat and pulled out his journal from within his jacket, writing something known only to him in a strange archaic hand that was not recognizable as being from any civilization.

"Athena, status report." He heard Winston say.

"Angela's flight has been delayed due to terrorist activities in Turkey. A suicide bombing a few blocks away from the airport has shut down all travel."

"Is she okay?"

"She assures me she is fine, though her flight is delayed by at least five hours."

"Who else?"

"Reinhardt is departing Berlin, along with Bridgette, and it seems likely Torbjörn will board his flight there to Spain. McCree is actually-"

She was interrupted by the light jangle of spurs and leather boots on metal flooring. "Howdy." Said a voice in a southern drawl that sounded straight out of a Clint Eastwood movie. In the doorway stood a lean but slightly muscled man in a red poncho and dusty cowboy hat, the glint of metal from a metallic arm barely visible. A Peacekeeper revolver, modified to shoot bullets of a far higher caliber than most guns with less recoil, sat visibly and comfortably in a holster on his right hip. His face was obscured in shadow, a cigarette glowing orange from a mouth framed in an unkempt, close cropped beard.

"Ah, Jesse." Said Winston, extending a hand. "You had a good journey I trust?"

"Don't know why they call it first class." He drawled. "That champagne don't exactly got spice to it like a good whiskey."

"That's probably why they don't have it, Jesse." Said Athena jokingly.

"Hmph. We got some of that stuff around? I feel an almighty thirst."

"I would assume we do. That is, if Draconian didn't help himself to it."

McCree blinked. "Draconian? Is he around?"

"Yes." Said Athena, sounding none too pleased.

"Unfortunately…" Whispered Winston under his breath, which Draconian only heard due to his sensitive hearing.

Draconian spoke up from across the room. "Perhaps if you saw more of the world than the rim of your hat, McCree." Chuckled Draconian.

McCree chuckled. Unlike most of Overwatch, he seemed to have no problem with Draconian, treating him more as a competitive drinking buddy. "Howdy, old timer. Been awhile since I seen you around these parts."

Draconian nodded, conjuring two glasses from thin air and pouring whiskey from his decanter into them. He slid one to McCree, who nodded gratefully. "It has indeed been a while, Jesse. I trust all has been well with you?"

"About as good as it gets for an outlaw like me. Stowing away on trains and rescuing pretty girls from bandits. Don't get no sheriff's badge at the end though. How about yourself?"

Draconian took a swig from his glass. "About as best as can be expected."

McCree frowned at Draconian. "Didn't know you took to drinking so easily. Guess the best isn't the best huh?"

He did not immediately say anything. "I still don't much like the taste, but the effect is… soothing, if nothing else."

McCree laughed again. "Draconian, if people drank whiskey for the taste you'd wouldn't have a sense of it. Nah, it's like a balm, y'know? Makes all the bad stuff go away for awhile."

Draconian raised an eyebrow in confusion. "A curious reason to create a drink. For the resolution of mental ailments. Effective, though, I'll give them that."

McCree nodded, taking another gulp of the fiery liquid. "Yep, just so. I reckon signing up with Overwatch again ain't the best idea, so I best not be in my right mind for it." He grinned in a lopsided, crooked way, smiling lazily. "So, what you and our little poster girl talk about?"

Draconian looked at McCree unblinkingly. "How did you know we talked?"

"You got the look Draconian." Said McCree, looking back with a very sober, very soulful light in his eyes. "I know Miss Oxton got here before me. Hell, she's probably been practicing coming back to Overwatch. And not to be rude, but you can be read fairly easily with a bit of practice. You talked with someone. You're less tense than ya usually are, and you're drinking away here when ya don't normally drink. Considering Winston and Athena don't have a mind to listen to ya I figure you talked with Lena."

Draconian looked down and sighed in defeat. McCree was as sharp and precise as his aim with that Peacekeeper. "We talked of… the past, McCree. Old things. Things you don't want to hear about."

"Your Dragons? The family, as ya call them?"

He nodded. "Them. People of the past."

"Such as?"

"That is a subject for another time, McCree." His voice was soft, but the meaning was clear. He would talk of nothing right now.

"Just trying to help, Draconian. I know ya don't like to talk and ya got your own lone wolf thing going, but not all of us want ya gone."

"No, just most."

"Can't argue with ya there."

The two sat in a mutual silence of understanding, drinking quietly with their thoughts in their glasses. Draconian was content to stay like that, letting the world disappear with each wave of amber, but his attention was brought back to reality.

"Athena, any new agents joining the call?" He heard Winston say.

"Yes, though my projections have overestimated the amount. Few are joining us, and likely for good reason."

"Hold on." McCree said. "Y'all are hiring new agents on top of bringing the old ones back?"

"That's right." Said Athena. "We've sent out anonymous invites to a few people of eclectic personalities."

"Such as…?"

Winston shrugged. "Gamers. Musicians. Even monks, in the form of Genji's teacher, who is apparently traveling with him."

"I thought he died." Said McCree. "Something or another Mondatta."

"Close, but no cigar McCree." Said Athena. "Tekhartha Mondatta was assassinated for his role in the dogmatic preaching of the Iris and how it applied to both human and Omnic. Genji's teacher, Zenyatta Mondatta, believes differently. He believes that the interaction between human and Omnic is more simple. That those with circuits are like those of blood. They both have a soul. He helped Genji recover from his augmentations and rejection of them."

"So let me get this straight." McCree swirled the whiskey in his glass around. "You called on gamers? DJs? _Priests_?"

"Essentially yes." Confirmed Winston.

"They are public figures. If they join… they may ease the federal backlash."

Draconian, silent but aware that these people were destined to join, saw a flaw in their logic. "Forgive me if I'm wrong Winston, but wasn't Overwatch brought down due to public discontent?"

Winston glared at him. "Yes. But we are hoping these people joining will bring the public to our side."

"And if they don't?"

"I… uh… We…"

"Don't have a plan for them being put under federal persecution and public outrage?"

Winston snarled. "This is rich coming from you Draconian, being directly responsible for Liao."

Draconian took a drink, standing up unsteadily. "Say that again Winston."

"I said, how ironic considering you essentially killed our public relations official."

Draconian took another drink, throwing the glass to the side. In the next instant he had moved across the room, his arm around Winston's thick neck and the gorilla lumbering around erratically with him on his back. Despite his small frame, even for a human, he clung on easily, Winston's yellow eyes bulging in shock and anger. Athena was shouting, McCree watching uneasily from the table. Lena rushed into the room, screaming at them. "Knock it off! Both of you, knock it off!"

Winston growled, reaching up and throwing Draconian off him. He landed in a roll, springing up with his bare fists up in a tense brawling position.

Winston stalked forward, beating his fists against his armored chest. He swung at Draconian, diving to the right, and kicking him off balance. He swung his arm around Winston again, locking him in a chokehold.

Suddenly a feeling of pain and panic and fear seized Draconian, his body jerking backward as if he'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Winston straightened calmly, his eyes suddenly all too placid compared to the rage he'd been in a second ago.

"Genji, I was under the impression the people you'd have me join were peaceful." The voice was calm and soothing, reminiscent of streams over rocks and leaves whispering against each other. It was also amused, a faint hint of laughter coloring a voice that sounded with a warm metallic tone.

Genji Shimada walked in, his expression unreadable through his faceplate. "I was under the same impression as well, Master." He scanned the writhing form of Draconian and passive Winston, who regarded them calmly.

Behind Genji floated an Omnic, his legs clothed in threadbare pants with a red sash around them, his posture relaxed and calming. "I sense tension with the past from these two." He turned to Draconian, who had a small orb hovering over him in a dark purple light. He then regarded Winston, who had a similar orb glowing with a bright white light, and then back to Draconian. "And pain, great pain, in this one." He held out his hands, drawing back both orbs, Winston blinking and Draconian groaning slightly.

Draconian drew himself up, his face beaded in sweat and orange eyes rapidly turning purple. He was breathing raggedly, Winston regarding him with loathing and McCree and Lena with anxiety.

"Draconian, are you okay?" Genji reached out with his arm.

Draconian flinched, ducking away, disappearing from one spot of the room to the next, Zenyatta and Genji watching in silence.

….

 _The Dreams were terrible. Ever breaking upon his mind like waves of agony, fear, hopelessness, pain. Always from the past. Some from the future. He remembered the ones from the future, but never thought of them until the time came to pass, like prophetic visions._

 _The first was a car crash. In his youth, true youth, when he numbered in the double digits of age, he was driving. Carefree, calm, happy, but driving for reasons he couldn't remember. He took a left turn…_

 _A flash of white, his car turned two hundred seventy degrees, the sound of splintering metal and crumpling plastic and hissing gas. Fear exploded across him, his glasses flying off his face as he faced mortality. No one was hurt. But the accident forced into him true fear and hopelessness, lying in a wreck of metal with his eyes turned into a thousand yard stare._

 _The second was her. Zailin. Blood. He'd seen so much of it before, at this point. So why was hers so damaging to him? Hazel eyes so full of life. Extinguished. Holding her body while the world collapsed around him and the Dragons pulled him from the core of destruction. Loss. Oh loss. Zailin, he sighed. My fault for this._

 _The third was Liao, proud on the stage with Overwatch at its peak. She smiled. Draconian smiled. Every Overwatch member at the time smiled. Torbjorn laughed and danced merrily, Reinhardt singing merry jests, Jack and Gabe enlightening the children of the famous and diplomatic with stories of war meant to be inspiring, Ana sipping fine red wine. Lena was zipping around in her suit, the chronal accelerator s bright blue jewel, Genji impassive and silent. Angela and McCree laughing at some joke. All of Overwatch was here. All was well, and for a moment, Draconian let himself believe Fate may have given them all a free pass._

 _So, he wondered later, why was there red staining the center of Liao's chest, right at her diaphragm?_

 _It was only later he called Overwatch together, telling each and every member of the dossier he had found in the Talon base. And his decision to keep it to himself. And so it was Draconian was disowned. He left the base, a cold grey rain falling about him, and his visits became less and less._

 _The Dreams became more and more frequent, plaguing him. Twisted metal, hazel eyes, silver dress, crimson crimson crimson crimson… Haven't I seen enough crimson…?_

 _I only wanted the Dragons…_

 _I knew the price, but not its consequence…_

 _Imagine yourself in a Frozen Forest…_

 _Or was it a glade…?_

 _Mountains, maybe…?_

 _Something with rain…_

 _Maybe dark…_

 _Away from the pain..._

"...aaAAAAIIIIIIIIIN AGGGHHH!"

Draconian threw himself from the bed, unaware that he been unconscious, whether through sleep, or self imposed. Cold sweat beaded his forehead, but his body burned with fever. In desperation he began to loosen his clothes, his cape fluttering to the ground, its ever present illusion fading, the many bars of light casting rainbow shadows over his face. He tore off the jacket, his white button up shirt loosening the top button and rolling up the sleeves.

He staggered out of the room, panting hard like a dog, his breathing shaky and ragged. "Oh God, oh God…" He murmured, his body cold and hot at the same time. He fumbled for the bathroom door, flipping on the light and sticking his head under the sink. Cold water rushed over him soothingly, matting his long brown hair and shoulders. He let the water run, sinking down wearily and pressing his head to the cupboard underneath the sink.

He lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, breathing hard, the Dreams tearing at him, goosebumps dotting his arms, slumped over and eyes closed.

He jerked awake when he heard the door open, Lena standing there in shock in grey sweats and a pajama shirt with a picture of a cat on it. "Draconian?"

He smiled weakly, setting his head against the sink again. "Hello, Lena."

"Draconian, what happened?"

He chuckled grimly, laughing slightly, then leaned over the toilet, dry heaving despite his body's augmented immunity.

Lena leaned over him, his gold eyes bleak and faint with emotion. "Is Angela here yet?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Good. Grab her, and I'll explain my condition to you and her," With that, Draconian slumped over on the floor, passing out.


	10. Dragon Tales

_A/N:_ It's been too long my friends. -Draconian

Dragon Tales

"You have _got_ to be bloody kidding me." Despite the smaller, lean frame of Draconian, he was a right pain in the ass to carry. So thought Lena as she dragged him down Watchpoint Gibraltar's halls at two in the morning, sure she looked like she had just murdered him. That would make Winston happy.

She stepped into the clinic, which was organized and immaculate and blinding white. On the wall, in a clear glass case, was Angela's Valkyrie suit, the very image of angelic grace, its wings glowing bright white and gold and the staff slender as a reed beside it. Lena was always taken aback by how the suit looked. _Wish I had wings for my suit._ Thought Lena. _Probably wouldn't be super aerodynamic though._

"Angela?" Called Lena.

"One moment please." Said the light, pleasant voice of Angela Ziegler. She stepped out of a small washroom stationed in the clinic, wiping her hands on a clean cotton towel. She wore a simple red T shirt that read "trust me, I'm a doctor", a pair of blue jeans with white hi-tops, and a white lab coat over it all. Her platinum blonde hair and diamond blue eyes leant more credibility to the notion of her being an angel. She took one look at Lena carrying the oddly heavy body of Draconian, her lip curling in distaste. She shared the same feeling of animosity towards Draconian that Winston and Athena shared. "Him." She said flatly.

"Angela, he needs your help. He was in the bathroom, apparently sick or something, and then he just passed out."

Angela glared at the limp form of Draconian. "I thought he couldn't get sick. For any reason."

"Neither did I. But please Angela, help him. You're a doctor. That's what you do." Pleaded Lena.

Angela debated on whether or not giving him killing doses of morphine to really check whether or not his augmentation was not what it cracked up to be. If it worked, he was done for. If not, then he'd be fine anyway. She sniffed. "Fine. Put him on the bed."

Lena groaned and struggled underneath his weight, throwing him off onto the bed with his arm and leg draping off one side. Angela busied herself, mumbling slightly and cursing under her breath. "Three hours and I'm already having to deal with this schweinhund…"

She put a heart rate monitor on his arm and checked he was still breathing, which he was. She took a blood sample, and was surprised at what she saw. "Gott im himmel!" She said.

"What, what is it?" Said Lena, standing up.

Angela took a shaky breath. "Lena, I have a question for you. Have you, or any other Overwatch member, seen him bleed?"

Lena frowned, scratching her chin. "No. No, I don't think so. But…" Angela looked sharply at her. "After our… fight with Doomfist, before Overwatch was disbanded, the guards told us Doomfist kept spouting off about a gold eyed, silver blooded ally. That's all. Gold eyes… we assumed that could only be Draconian. But silver blood? We'd never seen him bleed before though."

Angela held up the small vial in her hands, in which swirled a silvery liquid substance. "I took a blood sample. And his blood is silver. _Silver_ , Lena. I can't imagine for any reason why any person's blood would be silver!" Angela began to sound excited. "Different pigmentation of the blood? Does he not require oxygen? Is that why his blood his silver? But no, if he didn't require oxygen, it'd be blue…"

"Um, doc, I don't mean to pressure you, but surely you should get back to seeing what's wrong with him?"

"Oh right." She said, gaining back her formality, the excited doctor fading below the surface. "He could be a medical marvel though." She said, her blue eyes shining. "Imagine, if his magical augmentations could be applied to science…"

She began to study him, checking the whites of his eyes which held a faint gold glow to them, assumably from the irises. She studied his teeth, which were very white and straight, and the breathing in his lungs. His other vitals were monitored, including his blood pressure and heart rate, which seemed to be normal. In short, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him, concluded Angela, besides the fact he was unconscious for one reason or another.

"Angela." Said Lena. "I was talking with Draconian earlier, and he said we'd have to vacate this base. Go underground. Do you think that's true?"

Angela sighed, looking at the Valkyrie suit on the wall wistfully. "Unfortunately, he's right. I'm more than certain that some of us are still monitored by the U.N. McCree, Torbjorn, perhaps even me. While I was in the Middle East, I had better security than one might expect in such a conflicted place. I thought it was just because I was a doctor, but some of these people seemed to know who I was."

"What was it like?" Asked Lena. "In the Middle East."

Angela seemed to deflate slightly. "It was violent, Lena. So many people, displaced because of the political turmoil and endless terrorist factions. It's terrible Lena. And Overwatch, being shut down, while it had its reasons… I cannot deny that Overwatch brought peace to places such as those." Her eyes tracked the wings of the angelic suit, tracing the slender outline of the caduceus staff. "At the time, I agreed with the U.N's decision to shut Overwatch down. My technology had started to see… less desirable effects than what I created them for. My biotic rifle was stolen, after I told Torbjorn not to make it. It's been incorporated into Vishkar technology to heal their mercenaries. And the Shambali monks… I do not know how, but the orb he placed on Draconian… Genji told me about it. He started to go ballistic, and despite my disdain of Draconian and what he has done, I would feel my technology is too kind a way for him to go, if indeed he can die. The orbs, he called them, were harmony and discord. One to heal, one to incapacitate." She shook her head, bewildered. "My technology, ment only for good, has been perverted by forces for harm."

"Perhaps, he had reason for turning the orbs to his own purpose." Said Lena. "I heard rumors. Before Mondatta was assassinated. That one of his disciples left him, disagreed with him. That this student walked among people as opposed to standing above them. Could that be Zenyatta? Mondatta never fought, or took action. Not like Zenyatta. No, he always preached. Maybe… maybe Zenyatta is trying to take action instead of preaching it."

"Hmm." Angela nodded, seeming to agree with Lena. "I suppose that could be true. Genji found Zenyatta in… Mongolia, was it? I'd have to ask, but Genji was depressed and in rejection of literally the only solution I could find for him. Then he met Zen and… well, Genji is now at peace, so he says. And I believe him. Maybe Zenyatta, in joining Overwatch, will be trying to mend relations between Omnics and humans through being an Omnic himself."

Lena nodded. "That's a good idea. I mean, how many Omnics were a part of the original Overwatch team? I mean, I remember… Ah I forget her name. She was an Omnic though. Had the single blue eye, willowy figure, y'know… I don't remember, never mind. But think. If Overwatch is going to come back, then I think it would be good for us to start accepting Omnics like Zenyatta, and hybrids like Genji, to show the world that Overwatch doesn't discriminate on flesh or metal."

Angela sighed a very mom-like sigh. "Lena… I think that will be the least of our worries. Yes, we called Overwatch back to service, but don't forget… It was the world that wanted Overwatch done away with. So, while we might try to solve the societal problems that plague the world, the real question is, does the world want Overwatch to deal with them?"

Lena didn't have a reply for that. Only the omnipresent feeling that Overwatch was the right choice, even after the division caused by Gabriel Reyes, turning agents of Blackwatch and cold hearted agents of Overwatch against the organization, eventually culminating in the explosion at the Swiss Headquarters and the downfall of the once proud and mighty organization.

Lena ran her hand through her even more than usual untidy hair, looking at the form of Draconian laying on the bed. _Silver blood, magic, Dragons, premonitions, gold eyes… What exactly are you Draconian? Because you've proven time and time again that you're not human. You seeing me in the Void, twice, proves that._

Angela looked at Lena, her blue eyes wise and soothing. "Tell me liebling. What troubles you? Surely not him?" She said, gesturing to Draconian.

Lena shrugged, not wanting to acknowledge her strife that came from a factor of different things. _If her eyes weren't yellow, they'd be brown...Her skin was pale, not blue… She wore dresses and T shirts, not catsuits…_ Her thoughts led her down darker paths. _How many know?_ She wondered. _I never wanted to tell anyone. That I… I only ever liked…_ She swallowed hard. She could explain these things to Draconian. He had a sort of detachment from life as a whole that made it easier to explain things to him. He simply wouldn't care. About her sexuality. Her time in the Void. And… Amelie.

She was about to voice these thoughts to Angela, about Draconian's ease of disconnect from life and its emotions from a third person perspective, when a blue purple glow began to pulse right by Draconian's side. "Angela, look!" Said Lena, pointing at the human shaped silhouette. Angela looked up sharply, reaching for a pair of scalpels in the drawer next to her for defense.

The silhouette began to solidify into a middle aged man with a silvery, close cropped beard and glowing purple eyes. He was dressed in royal blue robes with black outlines in its fold, and his bearing seemed relaxed and calm. "Peace, Overwatch." Said the man. "I mean you no harm. I am here for my brother, Draconian."

"Brother?" Said Angela.

The man looked at the two of them, and for a single moment the image of a Dragon flashed over his facial features, sharply pointed with downward spiraling horns and the same glowing purple eyes as his human form. "I am a Dragon." He said dismissively. "One of those. You should know Lena Oxton. You saw Trivolx. Kairos is the one responsible for pulling you from the Void and granting you the ability to tame your time powers, lest they run rampant, contained in that chronal accelerator on your chest." The baleful purple gaze came to rest on Angela. "And you. Angela Ziegler, also known as Mercy, the combat medic revolutionizing the medicine industry. Sometimes, not for the best."

Angela's eyes were a cold, wrathful blue, looking at the Dragon with fury. She was pissed. Pissed that a Dragon, one who never bothered with the world and its endless machinations, would dare to assume that she was responsible for the perversion of her technology. And pissed that he was right.

The Dragon grinned, seemingly unabashed by their startled manner. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Voremyas. A Dragon of… well, we have words in our language to describe what I mostly am. Roughly a spiritual or magical healer."

"Uh huh." Said Angela slowly. "Then why are you here?"

The Dragon waved off the question, holding his hand over Draconian. Soft blue light pulsed in his hand as he waved it over him. "Hmm. The Dreams again… Always the Dreams…"

"Um, Voremyas - that's your name right?- What exactly is wrong with Draconian? He never once got sick in front of us, or indeed said he could ever get sick. He was just… always healthy, y'know? So, why is he passed out or in a coma or whatever the hell you call this?" Lena seemed concerned, which struck Voremyas as amusing. And perhaps a bit proud for his brother, ever the solitary type.

The Dragon seemed to hum a tune in a deep guttural voice, a tune of bemusement as he kept shedding soft blue light over Draconian. "Peace, Ms. Oxton. I am aware you want to speak to Draconian about matters as of yet no one but yourself knows, and I'd wager I can hazard an accurate guess about what it is."

Angela looked at Lena, the mom attitude returning in an instant. "Lena Oxton. Is there something you were wanting to tell me?"

Lena squirmed right where she was, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. She wanted to tell her - tell everyone - about her sexuality, about Amelie, about the Void, to whoever would listen.

But it would be easier having a confidant, however isolated, to help her ease out.

"I'll tell you Ang." Said Lena. "I promise. When I feel ready, I'll tell you." Angela seemed none too happy about, but nodded in understanding.

"Great." Growled Voremyas. "Now that we are done with the family talk, we can stop digressing and begin to speak freely. Take a seat, this will take a bit to discuss." Angela and Lena took a seat in two cushioned chairs, watching as the Dragon took his own seat, having stopped waving the light over Draconian. "As I said, I am a Dragon with abilities roughly analogous to spiritual or magical healing. One thing you need to understand about Draconian is that he is a being unlike no other. Half Dragon, half human. Hence his magic, bodily augmentation, premonition, even the color of his blood. Observe."

He rolled up the sleeve of his arm, drawing a small, thin dagger out of a hidden fold in his robes. He drew it across the skin of his forearm, which welled with a bright gold liquid. Voremyas continued, seeming bemused by their looks of further shock. "Golden blood." He gestured to Draconian. "Silver blood." He motioned towards Angela and Lena. "Scarlet blood. You see the tiers. Humans, of course, have the same scarlet blood as is natural. Dragons, due to the massive and inherent use of magic in our bodies, have golden blood, colored by the thousands of years of magic use, retaining it even when in human form. But Draconian…" He paused, looking at his brother's motionless body. "His is a mix of both. Silver blood. Less than Dragon, more than human. Able to use magic to a degree of use. More than any mage from our world, less than any Dragon. You see a pattern."

"Hold on." Interjected Lena. "That doesn't answer the question. Why is he in a coma?"

Voremyas continued, flexing his hand as the cut on his forearm healed in an instant. "Consider it magical backlash. See, Draconian is almost entirely paradoxical. His body is human, the soul a Dragon. And no, when you explain this to Hana, tell her it's not like Skyrim. And of course, his blood a mix. So, Draconian is a hybrid of all, created that way. However, when our world was created, Draconian was our brother, created, for eternity, as a half Dragon. Unable to fly, unable to assume our form, unlike how we can assume human forms. However, the contrasts of Dragon and human also lends him special powers, magic that no mage or Dragon can achieve, or indeed, match."

"Such as?" Angela seemed to be getting excited, wondering if it could at all applied to medical theory and practice. If Draconian had special powers, or indeed even the Dragons, she could possibly use them to further her research. That is, if they both agreed.

"Well… that's the thing. There are no specifics, and Draconian is… well, he is mostly reluctant to use those powers. I'm not sure if you noticed by now, but Draconian is not, and never has been, social. He spends a lot of time in our world in forests untouched by humans, and rarely by Dragons. He is most often found on the shores of a lake or river, with tall trees around him. Basically imagine a forest glade. There are a lot of those in our world, and that's where he generally wants to be. We, his brothers and sisters, disagree with his solitary views and continued isolation, but Draconian regardless continues."

"So, why is he here then?" Lena frowned in confusion. "If he's not one to socialize, what is he doing here?"

The Dragon grinned at the question, but shook his head. "Draconian is his own person. We do not tell him what to do, nor he us. But Draconian, as best as we can tell, came here to aid you and keep Overwatch from falling, lest the world fall to corruption, hopelessness and loss."

Angela scoffed, drawing the slightly surprised look of Voremyas. " _Aid_ us? Draconian has been nothing but a hindrance to Overwatch, even before it was dismantled. And just when it did fall, he disappeared, and no one saw him, up until this point, until I was informed of his existence here. Draconian did nothing to save Overwatch, and he did nothing during its prime."

Voremyas seemed to growl slightly, his purple eyes glowing with intensity. "Did it not occur to you, Mercy, that perhaps Overwatch was meant to fall and that Draconian let it happen of his own volition?"

Angela's voice became hot with anger, her body tense with rage. " _Let it happen?_ Why?! No reason is good enough to justify the downfall of a global peacekeeping force! Especially when it saved the world when no one else could! We ended the Omnic Crisis, established peace, disabled the Deadlock gang and the Shimada Yakuza! And now look! A second Omnic Crisis is brewing, Russia is preparing for war, multiple international gangs and organizations are springing up in the form of Los Muertos, Talon, Vishkar, and several other factions! Climate change is worsening when we were once fixing it, and London is a ticking time bomb of societal discontent after Mondatta was assassinated!"

"Be seated Mercy, and I will explain the reason why my brother let you fall into dissolution. Besides, all that good you listed didn't prevent you from saying anything against its dissolution." His voice left no room for argument or rebuttal.

"Now…" Said Voremyas calmly. "Draconian will have to explain exactly why this is, but to put it simply, Overwatch was destined, fated, to fall once. He knew this, and made sure to never overstep the bounds of letting it fall. However, he knew it would also come back together, and so let that be too. Listen to me closely when I say one should never… _ever…_ tempt or manipulate fate. You know that lesson better than any Lena." The mousy haired Brit looked down solemnly, seeming abashed by his words.

"But there is another caveat. Draconian only knew of Overwatch's fate up to a certain point, meaning that from there on out, its fate could be shaped and influenced freely without repercussion. That moment was the Recall. Why do you think none of you saw him after that point?"

"Great." Spat Angela. "Is there anything else we should know? Any more discussions on fate and destiny?"

"If you are asking about whether I know anything more past this point in Overwatch's time, then no, I don't. Draconian is the one with premonition, not me. And second, Angela Ziegler, do not ever play God. That is a fate of unspeakable power… and destruction of self." His eyes lingered on the silver blood vial in her hands, which she hadn't put down.

"Wait." Said Lena. "So, how powerful exactly is Draconian if he has these… other powers? Have you ever seen them, or heard of them?"

Voremyas looked down, his eyes glassing over. "There was one instance. In a city that would be most similar to the Middle East, called Arakresh. Only two Dragons ever really saw it. Cromayla and Viarnost. They were in the city at the time of the Rending, as we call it. Being Dragons they were unaffected by the fallout - yes, the literal fallout - of that event. As far as we could gather, Draconian was in the city at the time when someone he had went to see, an old friend is all the detail I will share on this person, was murdered in front of him. What happened was… well, a contained nuclear explosion generated and augmented by magic and barely held within Draconian's body. An entire section of Arakresh is rendered inhospitable now. The people caught within the blast were atomized. If you've seen the photos of post nuclear Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the outlines were seared into concrete. It was the same as Arakresh."

Angela shivered visibly. "That… sounds terrible."

Voremyas nodded. "After, we constructed a barrier to keep people away and the… I don't know what you'd call it. Like a magical radiation… locked in."

"Did he ever feel regret? For the explosion?" Asked Lena.

"Again, I'm not entirely sure. Draconian left soon after we got him and was in no state to talk. His innate magic was in flux, and where he walked forests would wither, shadows would lengthen, and even the water became poisoned. Obviously he got better, but the effects of his surroundings reflected his personality quite starkly."

"How does he even do that?" Angela looked over at his restive figure, unmoving on the clinic bed. "Effect his surroundings I mean. I mean, his harp glows and can change shape. How does that work?"

The Dragon chuckled, closing his violent purple eyes. "Good observation Angela Ziegler. You are correct in that he does effect his surroundings, more often unwillingly than not. The harp is the best example. Whenever he got it, after a week in his presence, it began to whiten and change molecular structure. It's no longer wood, or metal, but it still feels like wood. Whenever he plays, it begins to glow red in the grains. He was never around Overwatch long enough at a single time to start affecting you, but in time, he would have. Who knows? Perhaps he still will." The purple eyes glittered brightly once more, the image of a Dragon's face appearing over the human one. Then it began to fade, until the Dragon was gone from the world once more.

Over on the bed, Draconian began to stir, gold eyes blinking awake.

"Damn it, Voremyas." He said.

….

Draconian's piercing eyes looked at Angela and Lena, freezing them in place as he looked around. He then broke eye contact, looking down almost sullenly. "How much did he tell you?" No answer. He sighed, pressing a palm to his forehead. "Look, guys. I know Voremyas. He wouldn't have told you more than was due without reason."

Angela and Lena shared a communal look, picked up by Draconian, who raised an eyebrow. "You caused an explosion. Accidentally killed some people. A friend was involved. Your introversion. Your world. Why you didn't stop Overwatch from falling." Lena said at last.

"Fate is a cruel, heartless, kick you while you're down son of a bitch." Said Draconian, his eyes glossing over from gold to dark blue. "But despite that, it must be obeyed to where it says it must be obeyed. Liao… I did not know the plans of her, what came of her. I assumed that it was an afterthought of Talon, and that Fate would decide her outcome. But it wasn't an afterthought was it?" He went quiet, his gaze pointed downward solemnly. "I can't explain that to people who have never seen outside this world. This dimension, if you will. From the Default, to Dracirir, to Respite. The three worlds defining my past and present, all are insignificant compared to the sheer vastness of it all. I am not a god. A hero. I am a traveler seeking only to help. But only within the laws of Fate. Denying that… leads to disaster."

"Who was your friend?" Asked Angela, seemingly genuinely curious, her air of disdain gone and her blue eyes free of hate.

Draconian sighed, and the blue eyes darkened further. "A friend." A sad chuckle forced its way up. "If only I could call Zailin anything more than a star. Beautiful and always admired from far away." He held up his hand, an image of a beautiful turquoise light filling his hand. It gathered into the shape of a young woman, her eyes shining with hazel light, intense but at the same time, subtle. Her hair was cut short, black and slightly upswept, and she was of average height and build. Her smile was radiant, filled with a joy in life. Seeing her, even Lena could sympathize why Draconian was always cold shouldered and brusque. Losing someone with such vitality could turn anyone irascible.

"What I am about to explain is extremely far fetched and long winded, but nonetheless true. In my world, Respite, people are reincarnated after death into completely new people with new personalities and looks and traits. Their spirits live on, each incarnation like a new page on a book. Except for her. Zailin is always, always reincarnated into the same person with same traits and personality. Never ending. Never changing. Stuck as the same person, unknown to her. And seeing her die. Over and over and over again. Cursed to see her. Over and over and over again, lest I fade away. And me…"

"The first world I call the Default. In that world, everything is… trivial. Mundane. No flair. No excitement. No true challenge besides the ever so present one of establishing yourself in a world that does not give a flying fuck about anything. But the important thing about the Default? Overwatch existed… in the form of a video game. And from what I could tell, all that I have seen in gaming, in literature, in realities created by others, came to life, separated into dimensions. What happened after the Default… I don't know. I call it the Rapture. I fell asleep one night in a room full of my Dragons, who were naught but statues then, and woke as a man named Cortleze, a self proclaimed lord of Dragons. He was older, but also infinitely more powerful, and arrogant. As the world of Cortleze, Dracirir, as we came to call it, progressed, an innate part of me became dissatisfied with his arrogance and the close utopia he created, rendering the Dragons useless for their purpose of making the world better and eventually disregarding them completely. But I, Draconian, remembered my place. And what caused the Rapture seemed to occur again in the form of the Change. And the third world, Respite, came to be, filled with the massive forests and mountains and streams and a smaller human population. And my family, the Dragons? They existed to live themselves, forever their own being. And I? Well, Cortleze was a part of me that was social, accepted, outgoing, boisterous and loud and proud. And I was the truer part. Isolated, introverted, quiet and wanting a peace by myself. But… my price for the change? Zailin. And bipolarism. And depression. And self loathing."

And Draconian was quiet as Angela and Lena's world expanded and looked at the world weary young man, the oldness in his eyes not at all exaggerated.

…

Draconian returned to his room, picking up his cape which began to glow under his touch again, slowly ebbing from blue to red to purple to green like a slowly pulsing LED light. He picked up the harp, playing it softly as the sun came up. As the dawn began to lighten, going from a bruised blue purple to a pink grey, he headed up to the helicopter landing pad where new recruits once practiced taking objectives during training. Watery red light began to bathe the Watchpoint in morning sunlight, the harp's embers turning blue in response.

"That is quite beautiful you know." Draconian stopped playing, turning to face Angela as she approached him.

Draconian grunted noncommittally,tuning the strings on the harp.

"I would like to say I'm sorry." She continued.

No response, only the mournful pluck of the string.

She sighed. "Draconian… I think I understand now. Voremyas, he said a lot of things to both me and Lena, things that helped clarify your stance."

Silence once more, and then he spoke. "Such as…?"

"Fate. Zailin. Playing God. Which I'll admit… is a bad habit of mine. And Liao. Why you let what happened happen."

"That does not mean I wanted it to happen."

"No. But then, I'm hardly able to judge after learning what I did."

Draconian turned away, looking at the rising sun, his face blank of emotion. "How many more are showing up to Overwatch? We have Genji, Zenyatta, McCree, and Lena. Who else?"

"We have a climatologist named Mei Ling Zhou who is on her way here from Beijing. A live streamer and pro gamer from South Korea who goes by the name of , real name Hana Song. She's enlisted in the military as a MEKA pilot to fight rogue Omnics. She's coming here as well. Also, how's your music tastes?"

"...Poor." Said Draconian after a brief reflection. At least he believed so.

"Hmm. Well, we're having another figure join us. A pop culture icon. Do you know what went on in Rio de Janeiro a few months back?"

"An uprising." Said Draconian. "Vishkar began to enslave and enforce harsh rules over the citizenry under the guise of trying to aid the people and clean up the favelas. It was led by Lucio Correia dos Santos, who stole sound based technology from Vishkar and led his people to victory in ousting their hold. If I am not mistaken he is now a world famous musician. I believe his most recent track is called Auditiva Synaesthesia."

"Well, Lucio is arriving here soon. We've set a window for how long new Overwatch agents will have to arrive here. After that we leave, and go into hiding."

"Do you have a location that can be used to house all the members of Overwatch under one roof, geographically suitable for hiding purposes and providing enough immediate resources to sustain them all?"

"Geez, Draconian now you sound like Winston." Chuckled Angela.

He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to answer the question. She sighed. "Yes. We have a location in Belgium, an undercover watch base that was never officially a part of the records of Overwatch. It's near enough to other locations and safehouses that we are able to pilfer technology in small amounts from there provided government surveillance isn't too high. Also, it was a big supporter of Overwatch back in its prime and even a supporter when we came under fire politically. And one more thing… Chocolate." Angela's eyes glazed over, apparently rapt with daydreams of chocolate."

"Angela." Draconian snapped his fingers, bringing her back to reality.

"Oh right." She said, her focus returning. "Well, besides Mei, Lucio, and Hana, I think that-"

"Pardon me, but are you the medic? Angela Ziegler?"

A tall, bronze skinned woman with a jet black hair and a wedjat tattoo symbol below her right eye walked on to the helipad where Draconian and Angela sat conversing. Draconian did not miss the look, however brief, of the same dreamy glaze that passed over Angela's eyes for half a millisecond. He in turn mentally rolled his eyes.

"Why, yes." Said Angela merrily. "Who might you be?"

"I'm Fareeha Amari. I saw the Recall notice and received a private message via mobile. I always wanted to join Overwatch but never got the chance while I was in the Egyptian military. Now I do have the chance to follow in my mother's footsteps." She puffed out her rather muscular chest, her facial features sharp and aquiline, and eyes as sharp as a sniper's.

A very peculiar sniper.

"Mother?" Said Angela.

Draconian slapped a palm to his forehead and sighed, stowing his harp under his cloak. "Seriously, Angela?"

It hit her suddenly. "Fareeha Amari. My, how time flies. Last I saw you, you were a scrappy teenager hell bent on joining Overwatch despite your mother's efforts to keep you out. You've changed!"

Fareeha nodded. "There are more people here downstairs, including Reinhardt and Torbjorn. Also a couple of socially awkward girls and a rather enthusiastic DJ." She looked past Angela towards Draconian's seated figure. "And who are you? I've seen you before, but only twice before Overwatch fell."

Draconian waved the question away. "I'll explain soon." He looked at Angela as he walked off the helipad back into the base. "I will make an announcement soon, should Winston not throw a fit about it. Reinhardt and Torbjorn will not be glad to see me again, and we need to make sure new recruits understand they are not staying here and the repercussions of being here now."

"Will you explain to them who you are?"

Gold eyes, always enigmatic and indiscernible, locked with blue ones. "Perhaps one day."

He retreated into the base, Fareeha looking at Angela in confusion. "What was that about?"

Angela shrugged, wishing she knew just what it was that made Draconian tick. "I wish I knew."


	11. Decisions, Decisions

_Author's Note:_ College homework sucks, yeah? XD Oh, and I've been getting my ass kicked in Dark Souls 3, hence the new fanfic, and I had my idea for a new Overwatch fanfic. So, without further adieu, here is Chapter 11.

...

Decisions, Decisions

It was noon by the time all of the recalled Overwatch members were finally gathered under one roof, Torbjorn arriving at around ten o'clock, and Reinhardt at eleven. Draconian made no effort to hide himself from their accusatory glares and harsh words.

Their words and reactions were both different, but equally damning and cold. Torbjorn was generally slightly irritable but mostly positive and happy to be called back to action. He had his personal forge and rivet gun with him, greeting old and new members, including Hana and Lucio warmly, provided, he said, if they could prove themselves.

That was not his reaction to meeting Draconian again. Instead the gnomish man changed expression almost instantly, shouting in anger and raising his rivet gun towards the passively watching man, his gold eyes inscrutable, posture relaxed. He had faced far worse than a sixty year old gnome with one arm, and while a bullet might sting, it wouldn't kill Draconian or penetrate his skin while he consciously held his invulnerability up.

"You!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "You dare to show your face here after your crimes?! After your confessions?! I should put a bullet in your head for all you've done!" He marched up to him angrily, being held back by Lena and McCree as he neared him. Through it, Draconian watched him warily but made no move to fight him.

Instead he lowered his head, the fabric making up his cape seeming to twitch in agitation. "I'll explain myself Torbjorn. Please. I ask you for time and a chance."

He lowered his rivet gun, backing away from Draconian's only sure allies in Overwatch. He looked up at him in barely concealed fury. "I'll give you a snowball's chance in hell when we make our announcement to the new recruits. After that, not a damn thing will stop me from putting a rivet through your skull." He waddled off angrily, cursing in Swedish.

Reinhardt was not irritable at all, but instead bounded into the Watchpoint shouting gleefully and picking up and crushing the ribs of all the Overwatch members in massive hugs. Until he too noticed Draconian. He set down Angela, who had turned slightly blue from his shows of affection, and fixed his his eyes on Draconian. "You." He said it simply, with no emotion or fury to his voice. "Why are you here?"

Gold eyes did not meet the blue and clouded white ones. "I will explain Reinhardt. Just give me time."

"You'll forgive me if I find that statement hard to believe, Draconian."

He nodded solemnly, acknowledging the levity of Reinhardt's words, and just how founded they were.

After the two of them had made Draconian feel even more guilty about Liao and his difficulties within Overwatch, Draconian decided it was time to get right properly drunk. He went to his room, which had nothing but a bed and a dresser with nothing in it, despite his need for neither of them. He knelt down, reaching under the bed, and pulled out a mirror and a decanter.

He eyed it with distaste, but brought it to his lips and drank. The sour taste of alcohol, bitter and pervasive, filled his mouth, and he lifted the mirror up. He willed his eyes to turn dark blue, more woe him for falling so far, and continued drinking. Slowly, as he continued drinking, he saw a bright orange sheen fill his irises from the outside, eventually enveloping the dark blue in orange. Satisfied, he walked out back into the central hall, where everyone mingled like a big happy family. Lucio had summoned hard light discs beneath his fingers, showing everyone how he mixed his music, to Winston's awe and Reinhardt's dismay.

"Kids these days." He said. "You should listen to the classics! Like Hasselhoff! Have you heard Nightrocker?"

Lucio smiled, slapping his knee in laughter. "I can't even take you seriously right now!"

Draconian turned his gaze away to a small brunette girl in an oversized drab sweatshirt sitting in a chair, holding a gaming device of some sort. Content to sit with another seeming introvert, he took his seat next to her.

She paid him no mind, just continued gaming away. Draconian's eyes flicked over to the screen.

"Pokemon Emerald? Classy." Nostalgia hit him like a bag of bricks.

She looked up from her game, seeming at once relieved and excited. "Oh finally! People like all these new Pokemon games like the bunch of hipsters they are! No one likes the classics. Good to meet someone with taste."

Draconian chuckled softly. "Haven't played Pokemon in a long time. I miss it on occasion though."

"What games have you played?"

"Oh I started in FireRed version and went all the way through Black and White. Played all the way back through original Gold though. That's a kick in the nostalgia those games are. All the way back on the old Gameboy Advance."

"What made you stop playing Pokemon?"

"One word. Skyrim."

"Ah, that's a classic too." She said, seeming genuinely pleased. "Everyone these days is obsessed with Elder Scrolls IX: Akavir. All the VR stuff and gaming rooms built for simulations, still can't compare to Skyrim." She paused suddenly, seeming confused. "Oh yeah... Suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Hana. Hana Song. You might know me better by my stream title." She held out her hand, which he shook quickly.

" . Yeah I recognize your stream tag. Competitive Starcraft player, enlisted in South Korean military as MEKA pilot, and now risking federal prosecution by being within ten miles of here."

"Hey, why'd you have to spoil the moment?!" She said indignantly. "I was just starting to like you." She pouted.

Draconian found that hilarious, almost erupting into his strange barking laughter and just managing to give himself the shakes, which Hana noticed. "What's so funny?"

Draconian recovered from his laughing convulsions. "Nothing, nothing. I'm afraid I'm less likable than you may think, Hana. Just ask Winston. Or Reinhardt. Or Torbjorn."

"Why would that be?" She raised an eyebrow.

"History, my friend. Storied and long history, not all bad… but more bad than good, in any case."

"Why? What happened?"

Draconian was truly starting to hate the word 'time', but regardless he knew he would have to keep on saying it. "In time I will tell you, Hana Song. But not now."

She nodded, seeming to understand she wouldn't worm anything out of him. "Oh by the way, I never caught your name."

He fixed his orange eyes on her, opening them suddenly from his relatively relaxed position and closed eyes. Hana flinched, startled by the strange color. "Draconian." He said. "That is my name."

"O-Odd name." Said Hana, stuttering slightly.

"It's only odd if you think it's odd." Said Draconian insightfully. "I don't remember my real name. It's been far too long…"

"Wait, your real name?"

He nodded. "Forgot what it was a couple thousand years back. Wandered and found myself in a glade one too many times and spent several weeks there by my always lonesome. After I left I no longer remembered it. I considered it archaic and attached to a life many millennia past, and lost it after my journey. Whatever it had been, it was inconsequential and irrelevant, and it no longer fit in the world I lived in."

" _Several millennia?"_ Hana gaped in shock. "How can you possibly be that old? You look like you'd be in college!"

Draconian chuckled. "I believe the saying goes never judge a book by its cover. Besides, Ms. Song, you are standing in a room with a modern era cowboy, a robotic monk, a man turned cyborg, a genetically modified talking gorilla, and a sassy British time traveler. Given that, is it truly strange to see a seemingly college aged person admit he's several millennia old?"

Hana started to speak up again, but was interrupted by him again. "Actually… don't answer that. It is a bit more far fetched for me to be here than the rest, considering all of them are the products of science, with a bit of magic on Lena's part, courtesy of _moi_. Myself, however, am a product of magic gone… Well, I was going to say slightly gone to seed, but that's not quite true. I'm a product of magic using me as its punching bag. After all, I know before I was Draconian I did not have to be drunk to talk to women, or have bipolarism and depression and self loathing out the ass. But…" He chuckled to himself bitterly. "A price is a price, right, Zailin? I paid it without knowing the consequences and it looks like we both got dicked, huh? Not that you'd know. Mostly it's just me who got fu-"

Flecks of gold suddenly appeared hot and fiery in the orange, then flickered out just as suddenly. He turned to Hana, who looked shocked at his conversational tirade. "I apologize. The drunkenness I was not kidding about. And it shows. You were not supposed to hear that last bit."

"I-It's okay." Said Hana, smiling shakily. "After fighting the Omnic Titan, some of my squad turned to alcohol after facing death. I've heard worse… and seen worse. My squad, a bunch of MEKA pilots and gamers like myself, they had no idea what to expect. They thought it was just a game, a simulation, when we fought it. They thought differently when we saw other pro gamers go down. Spyders was one… He was on Team Arcs, another pro gamer team. We saw him swatted out of the sky, and…" She swallowed with difficulty. "We fought on, until we defeated it. Back beneath the sea. Gone, but not dead."

"I've seen that Titan. I've fought it. I managed to infiltrate its inner systems before the Omnic began to try and purge me from its systems. I managed to do enough damage internally before I would have been overwhelmed, but it wasn't enough to kill it." Draconian's mind flashed back to the Omnic Crisis and the massive Titan rising from the sea. Fighter jets made the air vibrate from noise as Omnic jets chased them down and defended the massive Omnic. "It was impressive, I'll admit, in its deadly way."

"How'd you fight it?" Asked Hana.

"Elevation and a very hard jump through it's maintenance hatch on the top. But the Omnic was like a living organism, and after infiltration I was attacked by these smaller robots that I can only equate to white blood cells in the machine. I managed to get to its power core, but not before being driven back by a seemingly endless array of the damn things." He smiled slightly. "Something to keep in mind, hmm? Welcome to Overwatch, Hana Song. Now if you'll excuse me, I best acquaint myself with Lucio and see if Mei still wants to literally ice me."

Hana watched him move away, his movements strangely languid and graceful despite his admittance to being drunk.

Most of the Overwatch members had moved away from Lucio, who was now sitting calmly with a sandwich rummaged from the bare contents of the fridge. Draconian took a seat across from him, nodding in his direction. "What's up man!" Said Lucio cheerfully, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Good day to you Lucio. Enjoying Overwatch so far?"

"I think most of you guys need some new tunes. Reinhardt, nice guy, but c'mon! Hasselhoff?" He laughed.

"I heard that!" Bellowed the voice of Reinhardt on the second floor.

Lucio laughed harder, wiping tears from his eyes. "Speaking of which man, I gotta know, what's your favorite music?"

"Frank Sinatra. Uplifting music, calming, crooner music from a talented man such as that. Also a bit of electro swing. April Showers, Alone After All, Can't Stop Me, from a mixer called Proleter. Older music in my time, but classy. Very little beats it."

Lucio nodded. "I can get that. More a laid back but modern tempo with old music. Not my style though." He grinned good naturedly. "Into dubstep at all?"

"Some." Draconian admitted. "Less dubstep, more electronic in general. Ever hear of TheFatRat? That person mostly. Windfall, Monody, Never be Alone, Epic. But mostly I listen to whatever sounds good. I lean towards those types of music, but I can just as easily listen to Johnny Cash as I can Avenged Sevenfold."

"That's old music man. Sixty years to a hundred years ago. Don't like any forties or fifties music?"

"You mean the nineteen hundreds?"

Lucio raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm talking two thousands. Twenty fifty, twenty forty music. Y'know, like Seven Strings, Intertwined, Someone Else's Thoughts. Ring any bells?"

Draconian shook his head.

"Oh I get it." Said Lucio. "You're like Ice Girl over there."

"Mei?"

"Yeah, that's her! You must've had something similar happen to you. Is that why your eyes are orange? Side effects of cryostasis?"

"Ah, no." Draconian blinked, his eyes turning to dark green to light purple to sky blue each time. Lucio's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm a bit disconnected from time, but not like Tracer. I was here in the twenty tens, took a break for several millennia in a different time as two different people, then returned as I am now in the twenty seventies."

"Hold up, let me take my earphones off. Did you say several millennia?" Draconian nodded. "Holy crap…" Breathed Lucio in awe. "And where'd you get the sweet LED contacts?"

"These are my natural eyes." Said Draconian. "Usually gold, though they change color in time to my emotion." He blinked again, a hot pink disappearing to be replaced by molten orange once more. "Example. I'm drunk. Hence the orange."

"Dang, starting early? It's like some of those redneck Americans say. 'It's five o'clock somewhere'!" He laughed.

"That's not it." Said Draconian. "I'm… rather in need of it. Otherwise, all these lovely women striding about… I'd be struck with fear and unable to stay in the room for five minutes before social anxiety wrecked me. Drunkenness helps with that. It's something I detest, but is necessary, and my body is augmented enough to hold up under any amount of alcohol. I won't pass out, though I will slur my words." Even as he spoke, the s sounds were slightly off kilter.

"Oh. Gotcha." Said Lucio, nodding in understanding. "So, that means everyone huh?"

"Angela and Lena not so much." Said Draconian. "They have become more sympathetic to my own plight as of recent."

"So, you're sober around guys too right?" Said Lucio.

"Quite so, yes." Draconian raised an eyebrow.

"Hey man, I ain't judging. One of my best buds was bisexual back in Rio."

"How curious." Said Draconian. "An old friend of mine is gay. And a fine man. We shared many a meme and story on our collective video games. Why, I recall telling him a story about Skyrim where I indirectly killed someone with a piece of firewood. See, an encounter in the game can happen in towns when you drop something and two people fight over it. Well, this happened, but one of the people had a partner who defended her, and since he saw his partner fighting, he pulls it his dagger and…" He let out a strong barking laugh, seeming genuinely amused. "He kills the defenseless shopkeeper while the other two simply brawled each other with their fists!"

Lucio slapped his knee, laughing in tandem with Draconian, and over in the corner Hana was silently shaking from the story. Draconian seemed to feel something ease within himself, a hard, insoluble knot slowly loosening in his chest from the laughter.

Lucio wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh man, that's too good my man. I had a buddy steal one of Vishkar's gaming systems and we made the AI do the funniest things. We had those undead guys jumping off cliffs and blowing up explosive chickens in Skyrim!"

Draconian barked out again, mirth flowing into his the gold eyes. "Oh, that reminds me when I got a Mimic in Dark Souls 3 to fight a demon. It didn't stand a chance! But man, it helped a shit ton when it got that thing down to half health." He kept laughing, seeming happy for once, and Angela and Lena smiled to themselves as they watched the normally irascible Draconian loosen up.

Hana moved over and joined them, seeming to come out from her own shell and begin to regale them both with tales from Starcraft and PUBG. "And apparently one of the guys deployed his chute almost immediately when he came out of the plane. Our squad jumped off a hill and plastered this dude still in his parachute all over the windshield before he could even land!" Draconian slapped the table, trying to keep the harsh bark of his laughter under control. Lucio was doubled over, hysterical, and Hana could barely keep herself under control.

It was, Draconian thought, a rare good time with people. Still smiling and chuckling under his breath, he excused himself, needing to find one more person before the get together was over.

He began walking through the crowd, looking for her smaller stature before whatever drunkenness he had wore off. Eventually he did see her, hidden behind Reinhardt's gigantic frame, grabbing a bowl of punch and none too discreetly adding a dash of something alcoholic too it. Not that any member of Overwatch would have minded.

"Mei." Draconian used none of his magic to conceal himself or approach suddenly, but Mei jumped slightly nonetheless.

"Draconian," She said, her voice demure and quiet. It had always been softspoken, but seemed more so.

"You will forgive my appearance here I hope, even if the past is still not forgiven."

Mei nodded, and Draconian had his thoughts as to why she was so quiet. "They weren't your fault Mei." He said, already having known of the cryostasis and how it had gone so awry.

Her grip tightened on the plastic cup in her hands, almost crushing it. "How did you know about that?" She said, her voice barely a whisper.

"You may not know everything about me, but you knew me long enough to know that I don't miss much."

"Draconian… how did no one know of us? Surely you knew?"

Whatever approximation of bile Draconian had rose up in his throat as he prepared to lie. "No. I assumed you all had left the ecopoint and had gone your separate ways. I was wrong."

Mei looked at him hard, and nodded, seeming satisfied. "Winston dispatched Athena to the ecopoint where I was stationed. I was picked up, and once back in China I figured out what happened to… to the rest of the crew was irregular cooling. The cryostasis machines weren't meant to last more than a year… When they began to fail it had been two years in according to the data. Eventually the machines irregularly defrosted their bodies. But when their brains began registering electrical activity, there was no blood flow to their organs, and what followed once blood began to flow was system wide frozen blood clots, rupturing organs… It was a mess, Draconian. Black ice just coating the inside of the chambers. Intestines protruding from cold flesh, expressions of horror on their face… Yet, when I saw them, I understood you. And Liao."

Draconian stiffened, sure this was going right where he expected. Mei continued speaking. "When I saw my friends dead, I understood. We all knew there were slight risks involved with the cryostasis, but we did it nonetheless. It was my suggestion. And my fault. When you found the documents, you thought there was no risk to Liao. You kept quiet about it, sure nothing would happen… and when it did, and confessed about Talon's plans, you had only yourself to blame because you told no one else. And I forgive you…" She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and embraced him.

Draconian stood there with slight bewilderment on his face, orange eyes fading as he blinked and they turned into a light green flecked with shards of yellow, echoing his confusion. He raised his arms while Mei hugged him in forgiveness, seeming unsure of what to do and simply looking at his hands.

She stepped back, smiling shyly and blinking away her tears.

"Uh, um, uh… Th-thank you Mei." Said Draconian, at a loss for words.

She smiled a bit wider. "Of course, Draconian. I am sorry for that, knowing your adversity, but it seemed fitting."

Draconian just nodded slowly, his eyes darkening and lightening into shades of green. He moved away, seeming distanced from reality. Knowing his time was coming, he walked up to the second floor. From down below, Lena, Angela, and Mei smiled up at him, as well as Hana and Lucio. Heartened, he took a deep breath.

"Hello, Overwatch." His voice carried to all corners of the room, drawing everyone's attention to him. "I would like to be the first to welcome you here to Overwatch, and welcome you back if you were a part of this organization." He paced along the railing slowly, feeling better and more in his element, having been good at public speaking in his past. "Due to time constraints and wanting to be poignant, I will be brief. We will not be remaining here in Watchpoint Gibraltar. Reasons being, governmental surveillance and the knowledge Talon has on this place. We will be relocating to Belgium, where a base of operations never officially on the record books is located. The base is enough to house us all, located slightly outside the town of Brussels."

"That said, let me state the implications of being with Overwatch." His voice deepened, eyes darkening from gold to dark brown. "From this point forward, should you choose to stay, you are all now criminals and vigilantes. You will, if caught by the government, be subject to federal prosecution. Further still is Talon. You likely have heard of the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta. That is the result of Talon, a terrorist organization with unknown ties, origins, or motives. All that is known is that it is run by a council, with one of its members, Akande Ogundimu, held in Numbani Maximum Security Prison. A few of its agents are known by the names of Reaper and Widowmaker, an assassin and sniper respectively with… abilities transcending normal humans. How they acquired these abilities I do not know. Regardless, they are now your enemy."

"And above all… you may die." His words rang out like the clamor of a bell, harsh and discordant. "But through you, we can change the world. Put an end to the second Omnic Crisis, bring peace to Omnic and human, dismantle and topple Talon… Through you, Overwatch, we can do this. If you choose to stay, welcome into our fold, as the family of Overwatch's members."

He halted his speech, walking down the steps, and not even Winston gave him any flak for his speech. Indeed, his cold yellow glare simply gave him a smile.

…..

Draconian reflected in his brief and small victory by heading to his room, rummaging under the bed and wanting to at least celebrate it a little more. He dragged out a heavy, black iron pot with a handle and black iron rod. A dutch oven.

He hoped there were at least a few potatoes and some spices. That would suffice. He headed to the kitchen, where after Draconian's speech Angela had led the new recruits on a half hour tour of the facility showing them where to stow their weapons, and in Hana's case park her MEKA, as well as the official, now no longer bothered with rules of Overwatch.

He bustled around, looking for some shredded cheese and sour cream that somehow wasn't expired. Finding his prizes, he set the stove on, cutting up some potatoes and hollowing them out slightly, letting them bake in the dutch oven for a half hour. Once they were done, he took them out, spooning sour cream in the pits and sprinkling them with chives, onions, and cheese, setting them to bake once more.

Draconian had no need to eat. It was now unnecessary to his body's vitals, and always had been since after the Default. But he would be damned if he didn't eat twice baked potatoes cooked in a dutch oven… or drink Mountain Dew Baja Blast. Seriously, who were the savages who voted for Pitch Black? It wasn't bad, but Baja Blast was almost nectar of the gods. Even Dragons who visited the modern world or some variation of it rather liked it. Draconian lamented the loss of that sugary, neon green liquid that likely cut his mortal life span in half with how much he drank it in the Default.

"Good God, Draconian, that smells amazing." Lena walked into the kitchen, her mousy brown hair wet and downswept from a shower.

Draconian's tongue began to stick to the roof of his mouth. "Uh… Erm… I… Thank you, Lena." He scooted the plate toward her, offering her some of his potatoes. His heart beat faster, having not drank anything during this encounter.

She laughed. "No, Drac, I'm not hungry. Those are yours."

He nodded, stuffing the rest in his mouth so he didn't have to speak. His eyes began to dilute into an unhealthy purple. Lena sighed, nodding sadly. "Sorry, Drac. I know it's hard for you to still speak to women. Sorry to bother you."

She got up, moving away, when his Draconian grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him, the purple eyes ringed in dark blue rings of sadness. He said nothing, just sad that an immortal half Dragon was reduced to this level of social skill. Lena took his hand slowly, and tension eased out of his long fingers at her touch of acceptance.

She smiled warmly at him once more, and flecks of gold danced like embers in his eyes.

A low rumbling sound pierced his thoughts. He stood up, his eyes flickering in confusion. Lena looked at him, her expression mirroring his. "Draconian? What is it?"

"You can't hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Then she heard. A low rumbling overhead, the sound of air being churned relentlessly. "A helicopter? But…"

"Lena." Draconian's voice cut like a knife through her thoughts. "Get your gear, and get everyone else. I'll be on the helipad. Prep the jet too. Then get out there."

Draconian whisked away, his cape swishing and shimmering red and purple shades. He walked through the door, eyes glowing hot gold as he took in the scene. Three helicopters, jet black with several missiles and armaments on their wings. Soldiers, dressed in black combat gear and armed with whatever guns had been developed sixty years into the future, spilled out of them. Except for one man, dressed in a sharp grey suit, right in the middle of the throng.

The men were silent, except for the clatter of their combat gear. The man in the suit looked vaguely sad, yet still resolute. He approached Draconian calmly. "New agent? Answering the call?"

"No." Said Draconian.

"You're not on the list they sent out. Or apart of the original roster." The man said, seeming unperturbed.

"I am an ally."

"Hmm." The man put a hand to his chin, blue eyes sharp but weary. "We thought many of those left when Overwatch was disbanded. Who do you work for? Vishkar? Lumerico?"

"Myself."

"And you are?"

On cue, the rest of Overwatch filed out, guns leveled out at all of them. Draconian was at least pleased to see they were all in their combat gear. Lena filed out a little later, which also seemed good to Draconian. She was her in bright orange suit, the one designed for slipstreaming.

"You may call me Draconian."

"Draconian…?" The man in the suit prompted.

"Just Draconian."

"Don't be ridiculous, young man. What is your last name?"

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"Suffering from retrograde amnesia. Overwatch take you in?"

"No." Said Draconian again, slight irritation coloring his voice.

"Director Petras." Angela spoke up from behind Draconian. "What are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same question, Doctor Ziegler. Last I heard you were in the Middle East saving those in peril. Now you are here, in morally questionable company against federal law."

She stiffened in anger, but held her tongue. Petras looked around the base, seeming forlorn. "Overwatch… You were once a force for good, of peace. Of hope. I miss those days. But your time is past. And now, I have to take you all for vigilantism. I'm sorry. It was an honor to work with you all back then. But those times are over."

"Director Petras." Said Draconian. "I have a proposition. You take me, and only me. I am responsible for activating Recall. I motivated them to do it."

"Now hold on-" Winston began to interject, but Draconian simply kept talking.

"You look for an instigator. A catalyst. I am that catalyst. You wish to know more about me. Then take me, and let Overwatch go. I will give you your answers."

Petras heaved a sigh. "As much as I wish I could do that, young man, I cannot. No. These agents knew the risk, Yet they are still here. Please, come quietly heroes. I will advocate for all of you."

Draconian spoke to them without turning around. "Overwatch. If you wish to attend Director Petras, you may. I will not fault you for an easy path out of this."

None stepped forward.

"Overwatch." Said Petras. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Silence, resignation, and the cold truth that the government had bugged Watchpoint Gibraltar sunk into Draconian.

Petras too seemed resigned.

He motioned with his hand. "Take them."

The team moved in, guns raised cautiously, as they began to move backwards. Draconian growled. "No." His voice carried once more, his eyes flashing to red. He swept out his hand, red flame bursting to life in front of him and forming a wall sweeping backward. "Overwatch, go! On the jet!" They ran backward, Draconian walking through the flame and grasping their guns, which melted into black synthetic material in his hands.

Petras stood in shock as Draconian walked forward calmly, federal agents standing helpless and unarmed, but unharmed.

"Do not look for us, Director." Said Draconian. "I see in your heart you do not want this. But if you do, I will not be so lenient." Just as fast as that, the flames died down. Pistol shots unloaded at his back. He snapped his fingers, clips falling out from their guns, and continued walking.

He boarded the jet, Hana right beside them in her pink MEKA.

He took a seat, seeming drained and tired, his eyes misted into a brackish green from their hot red. He went over to the cabinet on board the jet as it took off, beginning to drink and not wanting to talk.

"Next stop is Belgium, chaps." Said Lena. "Draconian. You okay?"

Draconian said nothing. He reached into his pockets, bringing out a small phone and earbuds. "March winds and April Showers, Make way for sweet may flowers, and then from June, a moon and you. March winds and April Showers, romance will never be ours, and I'll leave, on a path for two." Music… blissful. Numbing. As needed.

He closed his eyes, nursing the scotch, and dreamed of forests and rivers where none but he walked.


	12. Help and Self-Help

_A/N:_ What's up you beautiful people? Long time no see. Sorry I've been gone so long. Math is a bitch, and Dark Souls 3... addicting. Also, I got on that Halloween skin grind for Overwatch. Dragon Sym and Cthulhu Zen? Top notch skins... Too bad Comp is broken all to fucking hell with Mercy and Junkrat spam. No worries. I'll get my four man High Noons anyway. So! A bit of character building this chapter. Not so much in the way of plot besides heading to their new base of operations. I'll try and be a bit better about updating in the future. Anyway, love y'all, and excuse the (real life) sequence of depression Draconian gets! -Draconian

...

It wasn't the physical pain that seemed to hurt Draconian the most. It was always the emotional pain, the mental pain, the pain one only felt in their spirits. In Respite, everything had a soul, and humans had massive souls, which could be viewed using certain magics. They looked like giant colored silhouettes, and if one furthered that magic a little more, they also gave off a distinct smell, usually related to that person's personality. The rarest colors of souls were black, followed by gold and silver.

Draconian, upon finding out this sort of magic existed, was innately curious about the color of his own soul, and also slightly anxious. Regardless, he had one of his sisters perform the said magic on him that lifted the veil of the mundane, and revealed the true color of his soul.

It was a deep blue, the silhouette of it imperious, but in the form of shadowy eyes lurked sadness, cold and irascible, lost and lonely. Draconian was not surprised at the dark blue color. He thought he knew what color it would be. A murky color, something of sadness and loss. But Jaraneya, the female Dragon who lifted the veil, pointed out the splotches of purple sunk deep into the smoky figure. Draconian knew what that meant. Damaged. Unwhole. Broken. And Draconian could not pretend to be surprised there either. He knew it, deep down, that something was wrong with him. He just didn't want to be right.

That didn't mean others had to endure suffering. No one deserved it. Life might've been hard, but people, especially innocent ones, did not deserve outright, soul crushing suffering.

Hence his current location. He could hear the yelling, hear the sobbing, feel the pain of the little girl with the drunk father. Draconian, even during the Default, had decided he did not want children. He had never been good with them, was entirely uncomfortable with them, felt that his long thin hands were not hands for raising children. But that didn't mean he thought they deserved suffering.

If anything, maybe saving a child could make up for his ruined childhood, so long ago. He had no memories left of his family. Only a constant sense of fury, anger, dread, and depression when he very rarely tried to recall anything.

He didn't care for the past. It was gone. He didn't even remember the Default except for it being so mundane and trivial. If anything, the Dragons remembered more than he did, if only because Draconian spent more time with his brothers and sisters who were then statues than he did with real people. Them and his video games, millennia ago.

But Draconian, knowing that while the world was perhaps advanced technologically, the laws and legalities of things still prohibited direct action against people like the girl's father. So, in order to further things, he passed himself off as a neighbor of the girl's father, citing a complaint with Social Services. Now he sat in a car with an agent of Social Services, a young woman in her early twenties with short blond hair and hazel eyes. Normally, Draconian would not have been able to stomach such a condition, but for the sake of the girl, he would.

"I told you that there was abuse." Said Draconian, matter of factly.

The woman, whose name was Elizabeth, sighed, seeming both sad and anxious. "I know. I can hear him yell. But I can't take any action. Its-"

"The law, yes, I know." Said Draconian irascibly. "A shitty law that prevents people from putting people like him behind prison."

"It's not my choice." Said Elizabeth.

"Of course it is." Said Draconian. He dropped the image of the "neighbor", who had been an old, slightly pot-bellied man in his fifties. Gold eyes were quickly becoming clouded in red, and his hands left imprints on the metal of the car's door handle. The archaic suit he wore seemed to flicker with fire in its fabric. Elizabeth gasped, her mouth agape as the illusion fell away.

He got out of the car, his leaner, smaller figure seeming wrathful. Elizabeth followed, fiercely whispering "Wait! Wait!"

He did not stop, hell bent on his mission. "Doubtless you have questions, Elizabeth, but leave those for when we are done." He walked up the old cracked sidewalk, pounding on the door just softly enough to not put a hole through it.

A man stumbled out, one eye half lidded and wearing a stained white undershirt and sweatpants. In his hand was a beer bottle, half empty, and it was all Draconian could do not to wretch from the overwhelming odor of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "What the fuck do you want?!" He yelled, looking at the unruffled Draconian and still shocked Elizabeth.

"Warren Clemens." Said Draconian. "I am here on part of complaints of child abuse and incessant yelling. Social Services, which the young Ms. Elizabeth there represents, is following up on these complaints."

"Yeah? And who the fuck are you buddy?!"

"A bodyguard."

The man let out a twisted chuckle. "Only body you need to guard is yours, asshole."

"Where is your daughter, Mr. Clemens?"

"What's it to you, fucker?"

"Dad?" A very timid voice squeaked out from the corner.

"Zaya! What did I say, you ungrateful bitch?! Get back in your-"

"Zaya." Draconian's voice cut through the yelling like a sharpened cleaver. "Come here please." She fearfully came out, clutching a blanket around her small, thin figure. Her hair was dirty, and old bruises covered her face. Seeing her as such, it was all Draconian could do not to sever Warren's neck from his body in front of his daughter.

She viewed Draconian and Elizabeth with the same apprehension she viewed her father. Draconian smiled lightly. "Zaya, dear. Do not be afraid. Your father will not hurt you while I am here."

"Oh the fuck I won't! Get the hell out of my house!"

Elizabeth spoke up finally, having gotten over the shock of Draconian dropping his image and seeing Zaya come out. "Mr. Clemens, do you confirm or deny these rumors that you are abusing your daughter?"

"I'll abuse you, you bitch!" He roared, seeking to make her fearful. She weathered his verbal assault, standing taller.

"Mr. Clemens, please, this situation looks dire for you already. If you don't stop, I will have to call the authorities and-" The drunkard lashed out with his beer bottle. Time stopped momentarily as Elizabeth flinched.

She looked up, expecting to see him coming back for a second blow. Instead, Draconian stood with his hand locked around Clemen's wrist, his eyes glowing pure red. His tone was light and conversational as he idly held his wrist, the older, fatter man struggling in vain to pull himself free from his grasp. "Elizabeth, I think you have seen enough to ascertain the situation of home and family life. Please, remove Ms. Zaya from these premises while I converse with her father."

She nodded, holding out her hand to Zaya, who took it hesitantly. She led her from the house, and Draconian turned back to Clemens. A smile twisted Draconian's facial features, but this was not a benign smile, a reassuring smile. This was a smile from a demon, from the darkest reaches of hell where naught but pain existed, sadism and cruelty omnipresent.

He flexed his hand, hearing the clean snap of bone and watching Clemens's ruddy face drain of all color. He stepped into Clemens, still holding his arm, and jerked downward, hearing a louder crack altogether, that of his humerus breaking from the socket joint.

Draconian pushed him down, leaning over the figure of Clemens, pathetic and in shock.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Draconian's fist lashed out again and again and again into the man's face, barely not breaking his skull. Blood stained his hands, splattering across the stained carpet, streaking Draconian's suit.

When he was done, the man was on the verge of dying. Satisfied, Draconian leaned over once again, pressing his hand to Clemens's chest. His injuries began to immediately heal, bone crunching back into place and facial features reconstructing.

"Let this be a warning." Said Draconian. "If you pursue legal action or your daughter again, I will kill you. It will not be a quick death. It will be nothing compared to this. You have been warned." Draconian walked out of the house, leaving the man who sat in complete and utter shock from what had just happened.

…..

The past was a finicky concept at best to Draconian. He remembered very little of it, and often thinking of Dracirir was like looking through someone else's body. The Default was even less tangible to Draconian. But from time to time, memories did surface from it.

It was never a memory Draconian wanted to remember. Never a pleasant, easygoing memory. Something of sunlight, or cold, or peace. No, it was always a memory that brought back unwanted dregs of the lonely past. The Default… a place where those with riches ground down the poor. Where society's rules made no sense and those with success were often corrupt. Where people took people for granted.

 _I tried not to take you for granted._ Thought Draconian. So far he thought he'd done a good job of it, despite hating himself for not letting go of her memory.

But the memory causing him pains that day was not of Zailin, or whatever she had been called so very long ago. No, it was someone else, someone else whose name he no longer remembered. It was an argument, with a woman. She had short blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a figure that allured many men. Draconian, just being rather introverted back in the Default and being able to converse with women to a much easier degree, did not know, remember, or indeed even care for those looks.

She was his age, give or take a year. Not remembering his own name or hers, the conversation sounded strange but far too revealing.

" _I do care! I promise! Simply because I brought him up doesn't mean anything!"_

" _Doesn't it though? You know how little I get out, and the fact I decided to at least give you a chance should lend you enough knowledge that I don't want to hear it."_

" _You said you didn't care."_

" _I don't. I told you I'm not possessive. But it's not something I want to hear."_

" _No." Her voice was sharp, but gentle, like a scalpel tugging gently at skin during surgery. "No. You told me you have no self preservation, and that no one would care if you die, because you haven't had anyone for a companion to make you think no one would think otherwise. You're lonely, an outcast, lost in yourself, and you only tell yourself people won't care because you don't care for yourself. Me telling you about him… that made the knowledge worse, didn't it? Correct me if I'm wrong, but this stems from the fact you don't have a companion other than your video games."_

 _The past self of Draconian rolled his eyes, drinking deeply of Mountain Dew. It was likely a bad idea, to keep drinking it. His heart beat unsteadily in his chest, but it didn't really concern him. "I told you, I don't care, because it's true. You're my friend, but now you've got other closer priorities whenever you're back home. If I drop a week from now, then you'll mourn for a week and go on with your life, forgetting I exist."_

 _She uttered his name. "You need someone to pick you up. To support you."_

 _A dry chuckle emanated from Draconian's throat. "You don't say… No. That's wrong. I've lived this long without anyone, I'll keep doing so. I have my Dragon statues, I have my games, and I have Mountain Dew. No one will care if I die. So while I'm not suicidal, I'm not taking any pains to avoid death either."_

 _She shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. Draconian noticed, but he was in no mood to deal with unnecessary emotion with someone who would only miss him for a week if he died. "I care. I do care for you. You've just given up on yourself."_

" _That's a bad thing?" He picked up the now mostly empty can, secretly hoping this stuff would kill him peacefully in his sleep. He wasn't fat or obese, was in fact rather slim, but his body certainly protested the things he drank and the habits he partook of. She slapped it out of his hand, shaking her head and uttering his now soundless name that wasn't Draconian. He glanced at it nonchalantly._

" _I care for you." She whispered. "I just wish you'd care for yourself." Tears stained her cheeks, watching him sadly through blue eyes full of tears._

" _I will. When I'm dead." She stormed out of the room, Draconian watching her go. He took another drink of his soda, feeling his heart flutter unsteadily. The funny thing was, he was sure she did care, but he wasn't about to acknowledge it after the uncanny prediction she had made. He was lonely… he just didn't want to acknowledge it._

….

"March Winds and April Showers…"

Softly going music echoed from his earbuds. He forgot how good some music had been back in the Default. This was good music. Classic. Soulful. It was like a bandaid in that regard, for the soul. But his mind was not focused on himself. No. It was on another soul.

Even from here he could feel the crying, sobbing, broken, shattered thing. Souls… goodness, were they powerful in emotions. But Draconian would at least try to help him out. The final decision was his, in the end, but perhaps a hand would be useful.

The city was loud in his ears. Draconian had always wondered what New York would be like. A quick trip to the past certainly helped him discover. But his goal was not sightseeing. Indeed, it was to reason with a person. A few more blocks, and then…

There. Up on a fire escape. His face was stoic and passive, and really quite fair, with gentle but sharp features lending an elven shape to his face. Beyond the mundane veil, his soul, a gentle orange hue, cried out in silent agony only Draconian and Dragons could hear. He walked into the alley, climbing up quickly and swiftly. His feet were silent on the rickety metal, and as he watched the young man put up his foot on the railing, preparing for one final rush of wind. Draconian stretched out his hand, placing it on his shoulder.

The young man flinched, whirling around to face him. "Peace, friend." Said Draconian. "I am here to talk. After that, you are free to do as you choose."

"What do you want?" Said the young man. His voice was soft and tired, lost in the ambient noise of New York.

"As I said, to talk."

"Let me guess. Someone hired you to talk me out of suicide."

"No, I hired myself to talk with you about suicide."

"Oh? Do tell, what do I have to live for? Huh? My boyfriend broke up with me, my family threw me out when my sister outed me, and I have to live with that knowledge forever. Oh I know. I bet you're some damn preacher saying I'll go to hell if I commit suicide."

Draconian scoffed. "God, no. I'm an atheist. No, I simply wanted to talk. My opinion on suicide is quite controversial, in all relevance. I believe one should talk to someone about it, not out of it. My point is, I'm here to converse with you, not tell you you have so much to live for, blah blah blah… At the end of this, if you decide that ending your own life is the best way, then I will not hold it against you."

"So, what do you want to do then?"

"Inspire, mostly. Oh, by the way, how are the cats?"

"The… cats? Oh." He blushed. "They're good. They're in Central Park, hidden in a niche with blankets and food under a bridge."

"How many are there?"

"Four. Two tortoiseshells and two tabbies. All a few weeks old. I might try to sell them to good homes." As he spoke, his voice and face became more animated, his posture less guarded.

"Very nice!" Said Draconian. "I love pets. I don't remember their names, but I had three cats and four… no, five?... dogs. Four or five dogs, of the large variety. They were basically my kids." He chuckled, vaguely recalling four large dogs and one smaller dog, their eyes all brown and soulful, innocent and childlike. The cats were there too, a reclusive, long haired tortoiseshell, a chatty siamese, and a very fat, lazy, tortoiseshell seeking attention.

"You don't remember their names? How could you not remember their names? You look barely twenty."

Draconian chuckled humorlessly, hanging his head. "I am… older than I look, Mr. Karson."

"Well, you've aged well in that case. So, how old are you then?"

Draconian lifted his head to the blank black sky, the stars hidden in the glow of the city. They no longer remained a mute brown, but instead a somber gold glow. The young man gasped, looking at him in reverence. "Wha- What are you?"

"A wanderer, mostly. A dreamer. A warrior, some days. And more."

"Are you… God?"

"Kid, I just told you I'm an atheist. Don't make me chuck you off this stairwell."

"I can't tell if you're joking."

He scoffed. "Yeah, my humor isn't great these days." He reached into his jacket, pulling out a small tinfoil packet and breaking off a piece of something in it. He held it out to the young man. "Chocolate. Can't go wrong with chocolate."

"I'm not hungry."

"Kid, you don't eat chocolate because you're hungry. You eat it because you're guilty of something or you just got done with a breakup. Which you did. So, eat."

He broke off a piece, sniffing tentatively, and stuffed it in his mouth. His eyes lit up, going from a deadened look to a spark of life at the taste. "Whoa." He said breathlessly. "What… what kind is this? It tastes freaking great."

"Some sort of Belgian chocolate whose name I can't pronounce. Probably tastes better though because you were about to throw yourself off a roof." In truth, it was just standard Hershey's chocolate, but Draconian wasn't to ruin the placebo.

"I… I wasn't…"

"Yes, you were. Don't lie to me." His gold eyes turned to look the young man square in the eyes. "I know, because I've wanted to do so for a long time now. Unfortunately, shit sucks for me and I can't die. And trust me… I'd rather die tomorrow than live forever, especially with my situation."

"What are you?" Said the young man again, sounding breathless. "Again, how can you not die?"

"It's a price kid. Quite a hefty one. And my collector comes every day. Right here." He tapped the side of his head. "Yeah, you got it bad. I won't sugarcoat it. Shit sucks for you too, but I'll tell ya now, religion takes a backseat in the future, and you can walk in the streets holding your boyfriend's hand without some broomstick-up-his-ass preacher shouting at your face. Your family might still be that way, but I wouldn't know. If that's the case, then the day after you get married, you walk into that house shouting "I'M FABULOUS!", and smother them in gay. And if they oust you still, then flip them off-fabulously I might add!-and move on with your life." He sat down after his short tirade, seeming completely at peace in the blink of an eye.

The young man sat back down, his head lowered. Ten minutes passed, which Draconian enjoyed by humming some song he had heard on the radio before he got here. They still had radios in the twenty sixties. "Thank you." He said, breaking the silence.

"For?"

"Helping me out. Making me reconsider."

"No problem, though again, my intention wasn't to make you reconsider. It was to make you be sure whatever decision you made I would stand by."

"Still… you pulled me back, whether you meant to or not."

"Yeah… I guess I did. So what will you do now kid? Because I'm kinda curious. You tell anyone about this? If so, I recommend you clean it up right quick. It's a messy business, from start to finish."

"Fix things. Show them I can do better. And damn the haters."

Draconian resisted the urge to childishly say 'Dab on those haters', but couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile.

"What's so funny?" Said the young man beside him.

"Nothing. Kids like you make me feel older than I already am."

"And what about you?" He asked.

Draconian raised his right hand in a gesture of quiet resolve. "Keep on living. Really the only thing I can do. Maybe go grab a fuckton of antidepressants and down the whole bottle. Won't kill me, just takes more than average for anything of any measure to affect me. Unless its siegbrau. But I can only get that from two people who are worlds away, and one of them is a fucking scammer. 'Unbreakable'... my ass."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Good, because Lothric is a pain in the ass to traverse." He scowled. "Oh! Hold on, almost forgot." He removed a slip of paper from his jacket, no bigger than a post it note. "My number. Type it in if you want to talk or need anything within my domain of reason. Don't abuse it, and don't pretend it's Snapchat and send me useless crap. Use it for meaningful shit." He smiled, standing up and flipping his cloak out behind him. "See ya later, frau." He stepped purposefully off the rooftop, disappearing into thin air.

Behind him, the young man, Arryn Karson, smiled. Hope was in the future, if he stuck to the words of the stranger.

….

"Almost there, guys." Said the voice of Tracer over the ship's intercom.

Draconian removed his earbuds and sighed. The last song had been Alone After All by Proleter, and it had just begun to stir him from his cathartic state. No matter. There was the matter of his new base of operations for the time being. And his place beside it.

A half hour later they landed in a forest, gently sloping hills all around them and tall pines covering those hills like an emerald green rug. Draconian looked out the window, pleased to see it was raining very hard, the sky a blanket of grey. _Nice weather._

The dropship landed in a small, tight clearing, hovering just barely over a concealed clearing. Below them, the ground began to slide open, the soil and grass being pushed apart by a hidden gate into which the dropship began to lower. The platform lowered back into the earth, the gate above them clambering shut. "Huh, I was wondering if that was still functional." Said Winston.

The doors to the ship hissed open, and lights began to flicker on. The hangar had seen better days. Cracks in the ceiling had allowed puddles to form on the floor, roots from trees having forced their way into the hangar from above. Draconian secretly liked it. The roots growing from the ceiling and the dampness of the air lent the hangar a cavelike feel, natural but convenient.

Regardless, it was not where they would be sleeping. Several doors led off to different parts of the underground base, labelled in different sections like living quarters, kitchen, even a gym. The thick layer of dust covering everything though was a stark reminder of the neglect this place had endured. It was nothing short of a miracle this place was still working.

Even old bases like these had to be maintained.

"Welcome to our new home everyone." Said Angela, seeming none too pleased with the arrangement. She wasn't the only one. The only one who seemed pleased with the arrangement was Tracer, and that was because they were less than an hour from Britain in the dropship. Her, and Draconian, even though he had separate plans for quarters.

They walked into the base, flicking on lights and unpacking their stuff they had hurriedly grabbed before the U.N caught wind of the Recall.

"Hey guys!" Called Lucio. "We got anything to eat? We gotta have groceries right?"

Angela cursed under her breath. "He's right. We need food for everyone here. Grocery one, anyone?"

"I'll go." Said Fareeha, seeming excited to do something.

"I will accompany you as well." Said Zenyatta sagely.

"Master, you don't even eat anything." Genji pointed out.

"That does not mean I cannot bond with new friends and allies in our time here, my student."

"I'll go." Said Draconian. Angela turned to look at him.

"What do you need? We can grab whatever you need, Draconian." Said Angela.

"Topsoil, specifically, and mineral water." This raised a few eyebrows.

"What, are ya plantin' a garden?" Said McCree.

"No. I am planting a home." Said Draconian calmly. No one questioned him after that, and after two hours of shopping in the old, cobblestones streets of Brussels for groceries and a few double takes from the populace, they returned to their makeshift home.

Draconian went outside, curiously followed by Lena, Zenyatta, and Angela. He scooped his hands in the dirt, seeming dedicated to his task. After he dug the hole about a foot deep with his own hands, he took out something from his seemingly endless jacket pockets. It was a seed, but unlike any they had seen before. It was made entirely of crystal, and seemed to refract light into more spectrums than just the standard rainbow. "The seed of an Eldritch." Said Draconian calmly. "Trees as immortal as my Dragons, dying and recycling and only one being born every thousand years. No human has seen them before, and I doubt any sane human will, from where they are in the forests of Respite. I plant this one as my home, because my magic can become unstable, causing illness amongst you or leveling the whole base, depending on severity. The Eldritch will dampen the magic, and provide me a home." He gently set the seed down, tearing open the bag of topsoil. He deposited the seed in the hole, filling it with topsoil, and opened up several liters of mineral water at his feet. He poured them into the hole and began to chant, a soft whisper that made the hairs on the back of Lena's and Angela's neck stand on end. Draconian began to glow with a soft green energy, channeling it into the dirt. As the three watched, the tree sprouted. Then grew into a sapling. Then a sturdy oak. They watched as the tree expanded, leaves and bark exploding as Draconian fed energy into the great tree, until it was as big as a redwood.

Finally, Draconian stopped, collapsing to his knees. He looked up, amused and satisfied with its appearance. The bark and leaves contained a blue hue, like that of sapphire grains ground into the tree, the tree scraping the heavens and easily the tallest in the forest by twice as much. "Blue." He mused. "That can't be a coincidence." He collapsed on the ground fully, and Lena and Angela grabbed him.

"Draconian!" Angela said crisply. "Are you okay?"

"It is the energy." Said Zenyatta. "He fed it enough energy to grow it at the cost of his own. Fear not, he will be fine. He simply needs rest."

"Not… sleep…." Draconian whispered, his eyes closing. But it was too late.

 _The Dreams occurred again. Splintering metal and heartache and loss and pain and agh, why won't it go away?!_

 _He braced himself to relive it again until he woke, but he woke in a different scene._

 _He had never been here before. Past or present life. The air was festive. Christmas. Decorations of red, green, blue lights hung the hallway, through which streamed several brightly colored people his own seeming age, all merry and festive. A college dorm, perhaps._

" _What is this?" He growled to himself. Whatever it was, it would not be fun._

 _He floated through the party, a ghost going through people in this dream. Presents were being exchanged, jokes quipped… It was a good time. Except for him. "Get me the fuck out of here." He growled, lower this time. He clenched his hand, wanting to feel the warmth in his hand from flame. He liked Christmas, but not for its celebration or crowds, or indeed, its slowly more capitalistic tendencies with each passing year. No… He liked it for the ambience of soft white lights at night, of catching the whole world in slumber, the sky black and ground white as the world waited with bated breath for a holiday celebrating good cheer._

 _His attention was caught as he saw him. Him. Himself. Slightly younger, not bearded, but him. A grin was on his face, seeming different. He had both his canine teeth, but had the braces as well. Had the surgery been completed? Was this a different version of him? He watched as he walked through the crowd. Recognized. Popular. Draconian growled lower, feeling power pent up in his system. This was not him._

 _Presents were exchanged, but he was given only, not giving. "Greedy bastard. How arrogant I was not, had I been such as you were." Regardless, people seemed not to care, handing him brightly wrapped presents with smiles, which he took easily and with grace. However, he seemed innately distracted._

 _Draconian wondered why, until a knock at the door answered his question. He ran to it, people parting for him, and opened it to reveal a woman. The same woman who had berated him in the past for his self destructive tendencies. Not Zailin… no, the other person Draconian called a friend. Back when he had those. She was dressed in jeans and boots, a red coat over a red and black Christmas sweater._

 _Draconian's heart beat faster. "No… that's not right…" She kissed his other self on the cheek, seeming pleased. He… took her hand. "Lies…" He led her to his dorm room, and Draconian was dragged to it from some unseen ghostly force. "No…" His room was larger. Bigger. More grandiose with a wonderful gaming setup only good money could buy. Presents were utterly piled under a tree, from names he did not recognize. She smiled, kissing the other self on the lips softly. "Lies." Breathed Draconian._

 _This was not right. That… had happened? Or not? He couldn't remember. Only Zailin. But this wasn't right. Friends… money… a, girlfriend? "Lies, Fate."_

 _He clenched his fist, feeling the warmth relight in his hand, and the flame was wonderful shades of crimson. "LIES!"_

 _He threw the fire throughout the room, suddenly free to move again. Fire-blood?-splashed throughout the room. The younger self was removing her coat, her sweater… "LIES!" They were swallowed in fire, burnt to ash. To cinder._

 _Fury swallowed his heart. His soul. His being. And at its core pulsed sadness. Because this was not true. Nor had it ever been true. Nor would it ever be true._

He awoke from his dream screaming, surrounded in fire only marginally less crimson than his dream's. The bed he was in caught fire immediately. Two hands grasped his, both metal. McCree and Zenyatta. "Draconian!" Yelled McCree.

Zen attached a discord orb to him, but Draconian would not fall for it. As its effects began to leech him he grabbed it out of the air, throwing it at the metal wall with such force it was embedded in it. He shook himself free, sprinting out the door and to the tree he had planted. Horrible, aching sobs emanated from his throat, and half of Overwatch spilled out the door to see what had happened. He threw himself at the tree, crawling up it, hoping to feel the night air and see the stars and detach himself from mortality below.

The branches closed around him as he neared the top, forming a small cabin in the branches as he fell to the wooden floor, prostrate and wounded. He pressed his head to the damp wood, wishing, hoping, praying that the only sleep he would ever feel is that of death. "No more dreams…" He cried. "No more dreams…" He lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time, until grey light seeped through the branches. He moaned, feeling exhausted, void of fire, as he laid down, his eyes open as rain began to fall once more.

Below him, Lena, Angela, and Zenyatta stood (or levitated for the latter). "His soul is in anarchy." Said Zen. "He has been shaped by loss, and forgets what it is to gain."

"He's a wreck, guys." Said Lena, feeling bad for him.

"I will try and see if I can medicate him. Antidepressants for a stronger patient."

"Would that help?" Said Lena.

Angela looked at the quivering branches, the blue tree a testament to Draconian's isolation. "We can hope."

And Lena figured out why the tree was blue. It reflected Draconian's thoughts and feelings.


	13. Getting Down to Business

_A/N:_ Somebody discovered Bloodborne a couple months ago. Guess who it was. So, Bloodborne is your source of blame. Hope you enjoy. ;P -Draconian

 _ **Unmarked Talon Freighter, Adriatic Sea, 21:00 Military time**_

His presence was fear, in both men and omnic. A shadow given form, death given physicality. His heavy metal combat boots made no sound on the metallic freighter, and his ever present shotguns seemed to disappear and reappear at will. To think this incarnation of death had been bested by a lightning wielding gorilla with faulty shielding was cause for laughter, but no man dared laugh or breath a whisper of his defeat. Nor of his failure at the museum, bested again by the Overwatch agents of Winston and Tracer and two children. The single man who had laughed at this was now dead, his head taken cleanly off by a shotgun.

The second person prowling the freighter was a woman, of graceful, flowing beauty, long purple hair the color of snake poison, and skin blue as a ripe plum. However, her most striking feature was her eyes; a cold, golden glow, an amber so deep and inviting that one felt like an insect trapped deep in their depths of liquid gold.

The two crossed paths. The assassins acknowledged each other. Not as friends. Not as enemies. As business partners. And no more.

They strode into the depths of the freighter, walking long, dark hallways where they emerged into a small room with a single grey lightbulb hanging overhead.

"Sit." Said the voice calmly, carrying a slight Italian accent. Metallic fingers were clasped together, the Omnic's head a smooth obsidian black, his eyes red and slanted and void of emotion as Omnics tended to be. "We have much to discuss." He smoothed the already immaculate folds in his dark suit.

"Maximillien." Reaper's voice growled out. "Always down to business with you."

"I am above your bestial nature, Reaper." Said Maximillien. "This organization only functions because of the higher ups. We would not be Talon if all we did is kill. We subjugate. We manipulate. We outlast." He inclined his head just barely towards Widowmaker. "And you. Have you been Adjusted yet?"

"The procedure was done before this assembly." Said Widowmaker flatly, her face placid and cold.

Maximillien nodded. "Good. After your run in with the Overwatch agent and the successful killing of Mondatta, you should be ready for any following missions." Widowmaker nodded, saying nothing. "And you." Maximillien pointed to Reaper. "We are missing one of the council. Your job is to free him, and aid him in retrieving his gauntlet."

"Great. You want to accuse me of not killing the monkey, now we have to go get the one who couldn't kill him in the first place."

"Yet, he managed to incapacitate the time traveler and the cyborg, enraging him into a nigh unkillable state. You have not read the extent of the tests they performed on the inhabitants of the Horizon Lunar Colony, or indeed, its more unique details."

"Spare me the history lesson, Max."

"Oh, I think not, Gabriel." Said Maximillien, saying Reaper's true name with a hint of contempt. "Very recently, Atlas News reported on video coverage of the base and what may have happened to its inhabitants. But due to your 'little friend'..." Reaper pounded the desk with his gauntlet.

"She is a self serving whore with no morals or principles, working only for herself behind a screen and empty threats-"

Maximillien held up his hand. "I will not tolerate that language here Gabriel. Regardless of your opinions on Sombra, she has lifted certain details, inextricably linked and revolving around one person located at key focal points in your history, and Overwatch's." He flicked his hand, the table lighting up and projecting an image onto the wall. It was a young man, graven of face and slightly bearded, no older than college aged. He wore a very worn suit, a cape hanging off the back glowing in several lucid colors. His eyes were a powerful gold, yet solemn and downcast at the same time. It showed several scenes and video footage of him, buying bottled water and fertilizer in a convenience store in Brussels, Belgium, to the same person in the midst of Zurich during the Omnic Crisis, a sword made from purple smoke in his hands and weaving between Bastion units with ease, cutting through them like silk.

They, as well as several other videos of him, were all labeled to the date and time taken.

Reaper, unbeknownst to him, had tensed suddenly, and a small light of confusion appeared in Widowmaker's eyes. "I have seen him before." She said.

"That can't be." Said Reaper. "He should be dead. Or aged. Or… What is he?"

"My thoughts exactly, Gabriel." Said Maximillien. "A veritable ghost of Overwatch, disappearing and reappearing at random times."

"The last I saw him was a few weeks before the explosion at the Swiss Headquarters. Even before that he stopped in less and less, and whenever he did arrive it wasn't long. I did not like him at first, but as time wore on and I became the Reaper, whenever he looked at me, I felt like he knew."

"The Reaper… knowing fear?" Said Maximillien softly. "I am surprised."

"It's not fear." Said Reaper snidely. "Whatever he is, he is something else. Not of this earth, or even a product of science. His name is Draconian, but that is all he ever said of himself. He was a sibling, he said, of Dragons. And he showed them to us. At the very beginning of Overwatch. After we were officially founded by the U.N, he showed up, showing us things that are simply not possible. Not even Morrison commanded him, and the Dragons were _real._ We saw them, in human forms displaying magic, of all things. I assumed he had fallen out of interest of Overwatch…."

"Hmm." Mused Maximillien. "So be it. We will unravel this mystery later. We have a more intriguing matter." The images on the wall changed to something else. A cliff face situated near to the sea, in which was set a large base of operations. The cameras changed, and from there focused on a confrontation between the military and several people, at which Draconian was at the front of. Reaper's fists clenched at seeing Angela Ziegler in the crowd, and Widowmaker's eyes focused on Tracer just a hair longer than anyone else.

"Overwatch has been recalled." Stated Maximillien. "They cannot be allowed to flourish. And at their head, him. The one you call Draconian. We have documented the footage after-"

The door hissed open once more, a slim, short figure walking in with an air of self confidence and purple clothing, her hair a smooth black with purple highlights. One side of her head was shaven, revealing purple metal plates running along the sphenoidal bones of her skull and ending near the occipital lobe. "Ay, amigos, what's with all the doom and gloom in here? You could use some better lighting."

Maximillien stopped mid sentence, eyeing Sombra with as much indignance as he could muster with his expressionless face. "Did you retrieve the data, Sombra?"

She held up a bright purple flashdrive, smiling widely. Maximillien reached out to take it, before Sombra held it just out of his reach. "Ah ah ah." She said. "First payment. Then flashdrive." Her eyes glinted with mirth and mischief in their augmented purple irises.

Maximillien sighed, reaching beneath the table and pulling out a small box. In it what was another flashdrive, black as Maximillien's head. She grinned, handing over her prize in exchange for her nameless bounty. "We have another target, if you're interested." Said Maximillien.

Sombra looked up from examining the flashdrive she now held. "Oh? And who might that be, Omnico?"

He pointed to the screen, paused on the inscrutable face of Draconian. "Him."

"And who might that handsome young man be?"

"That is your objective Sombra. To find out more about that man. In exchange, we will up the deal to that of an Overwatch sympathizer."

"Hmm… No dice." Said Sombra. Maximillien looked pointedly at her. "Unless… you let me name the price this time."

Maximillien bowed his head slightly. "And that is…?"

"A woman. A Russian woman, to be exact. I want her monitored and information dug up about her."

"And this woman is…?" Prompted Maximillien.

"Aleksandra Zaryanova."

"Why do you want the world's strongest woman monitored, Sombra?" Said Reaper, sounding annoyed.

"Because… the big Russian bear she is managed to dig up some information I would rather not have floating around. On the other hand, I told her some _very_ eye opening things that may conclude in her working for Talon." She smirked as she said this. "Wouldn't you know it, she and some little Omnic managed to find me in Dorado. As much as I hate to admit it… she could have ended me then and there. But she didn't. And that was all I needed to work my magic."

"And why do you want us to monitor her? You're the hacker." Said Widow snidely.

"Because, my dear spider…" Widow almost bristled at that. "If you want information on your little warrior there, I'm going to need a bit of time, and depending on how much of a recluse he is, that could take as little as today to a few months. As skilled as I am, mi amiga, I can't be in two places at once. So, you want information, you do some research yourself."

"Fine." Maximillien said. "We will monitor this Zarya for you. In exchange, find out what you can about Draconian."

Sombra smirked. "Good. You will know what I know, soon enough." She walked out of the room, laughing softly.

"I don't trust her." Said Reaper. "She changes alliances to easily."

"Who does that remind you of, Reaper?" Said Maximillien.

Reaper growled. "You know why I joined Overwatch. You know why I joined Talon. The corruption. The red tape. All of that, restricting what Overwatch could be. We weren't peacekeepers. We were lackies. _We_ were the ones with the power, not the ones in the suits."

Maximillien nodded. "Omnics and humans, both are not so different. But if unity is to be achieved, Overwatch must fall." He turned to Widowmaker. "And when that is done, we will allow you to go home."

Widow's eyes seemed to mist over for the briefest instance. " _Oui, monsieur._ "

"I have called Sanjay here from Utopaea. You, Reaper, are to go free Akande. And Moira will be joining us within the week." He stood up, smoothing his immaculate suit with long hands. "You are dismissed."

…...

The branches moved to his thoughts, forming a balcony which he stood on, his hands folded over each other as they rested on a cane with a sharp blade, forming a makeshift rapier. The rain had faded away for the most part, and he had opened his eyes to the Eldritch's leaves dripping water. Now it was simply a light drizzle, forming small droplets in his long hair and and cropped beard.

The cane was special, with a long and storied history. But not in his hands. In the hands of another.

"You have some of us worried, you know." A pleasant voice called out behind him. He inclined his head to see Mercy on the balcony, wearing her Valkyrie suit, to which he raised an eyebrow. "I had to fly up here. You could have your tree make some steps for us, you know." She said, jesting slightly.

He sighed, and felt the Eldritch beneath him hollow out its trunk in a step pattern, with a door leading into his small room at the top. "You will have to climb, but you have your steps. Now, why are you here, Angela?" He said.

"Like I said, some of us are worried." She furrowed her brow. "Are you okay?"

"Okay is a relative term."

"Would you like to come inside?" She said.

He thought about it. "Fine. I will wear my hood though, and carry this cane."

"What's so special about the cane?"

He smiled briefly. "A long history, and more than what it appears to be."

With that, he jumped off the balcony, the branches extending beneath him again to cushion his fall.

His hood gathered around his head, the cane making not a sound on the grass. A small disturbance wormed its way into his head, but he ignored, putting it down to traces of the magic still being unsettled.

He walked into the base set within one of the small hills in the Belgian forest. He was taken aback as he looked into the living room section. Despite the base being old and abandoned for a couple years, it looked more lively than he expected. A glass TV was on, displaying the news, none of it good. McCree and Lucio sat in front of it, McCree sipping from his flask. Lena was at the table eating biscuits with jam, and Hana sat across from her eating Cocoa Puffs, part of a nutritional breakfast.

A glass window looked into the gym, where Fareeha and Reinhardt were busy bench pressing more than twice what Draconian could have when he was still human. Torbjorn and Winston were nowhere to be seen. Zenyatta was meditating by the wall, and Genji had joined him, his green visor dim with thought.

Upon seeing him, Lena jumped up, and Hana stared wide eyed. "Draconian!" Said Lena. She nearly tackled him around the waist. "Are you okay?"

Draconian smiled sheepishly. "More or less."

McCree grunted. "Gave us all a fright, you did." He smiled at Draconian from his place on the couch. "Good to see you kickin' though."

"Thank you Jesse." Said Draconian gratefully. He was glad to have some who cared in part for him.

He walked into the kitchen, wanting more than needing some food. Rummaging around, he grabbed a bag of tortillas and a jar of nutella. "Oy, you have to ask if you can use that!" Said Lena, smiling.

Draconian sighed and relented. "May I use your Nutella, Lena?"

She nodded through a mouth full of biscuit, and Draconian slathered a few tortillas in hazelnut chocolate spread. "Tip: If you go to college, tortillas and nutella make for an excellent midnight snack. Lots of protein and pretty filling."

"How would you know?" Said Lena.

"Because I feel about as old as I look. I don't require a metabolism, but God damn if I didn't love food at one point."

"Like what kind of food?" Asked Lena through some more biscuit.

Draconian shrugged. "A lot of lean stuff. I didn't mind steak or pork or red meat in general, but I generally preferred chicken. Holy fuck, I loved chicken. And potatoes. Potato soup, cooked potatoes, twice baked potatoes… But mostly soup. And pasta. Mostly cheese ravioli with pasta sauce. Super delicious. Breadsticks. A good bread with a bit of salt and choice of seasonings is excellent with pasta."

"Did you cook, Draconian?" Asked Angela.

"No. Tried my hand at it a while back, but I wasn't very proficient at creating anything. And considering we do not have boxed mac and cheese on Respite, or any modern foodstuffs for that matter, and I don't have to eat, I chose to simply go without."

"What about drinks?" Asked Hana.

"Don't have to drink either."

"Well, what's your favorite drink?" Hana prompted.

"Easy." Said Draconian. "Mountain Dew Baja Blast. A veritable nectar of the gods. How in the fuck it lost to Pitch Black, I'll never know. Taco Bell still serves it, I think. I'm not sure because its 2068 and we're not in America."

Hana just stared at him and Lena smirked. "You're telling me you're a warrior with a race of Dragons at his side and can summon weapons out of thin air as well as wield element magic, and you're favorite drink is Mountain Dew?"

"I like Mountain Dew, but Baja Blast is forever the best. Nothing excites me so much as that neon green liquid. Although to be fair, Mango Heat was pretty good too… Anyway, yeah, Baja Blast is the best, not just because of taste, but because I remember the sensation of one summer I had where I drank almost nothing but this stuff. I remember it was a great summer, even if I remember nothing about it. So the taste is kinda synonymous with good memories."

HIs eyes became brighter as a thought occurred to him. "Hana… You're sponsored by Mountain Dew right?"

"Yeah…"

"Do they still serve Mountain Dew Baja Blast? Can you get some more?" His eyes were wide with excitement.

She smiled. "Yeah, I can try that. And Mango Heat was your second favorite?"

Draconian nodded. "Yep. Had a really good citrus flavor to it. Better than most other flavors. But still, nothing beats traditional Baja Blast. I should find some on Amazon or something…"

Angela cleared her throat. "So, Draconian, what do you plan to do while you are here?"

"Hmm? Oh, help, of course! Any way I can. It may be to the disdain of Reinhardt and Torb and Winston, but I shall stay regardless. And, if possible, I would like to help you all by honing your abilities."

"How so?' Said Lena.

Draconian grinned. "There's a training facility here, yes?"

Angela nodded. "Yes. I looked at the blueprints of the facility Winston sent me. It's a few floors below us."

"Great. I was hoping to ease my mind in the heat of combat and test out abilities of some of us here. Any volunteers?"

Lena raised her hand. "Sure, why not. I could use the practice."

Hana did the same. "I mean… as long as I can use my MEKA right?" Draconian nodded.

Lucio and McCree nodded. "I sure as hell ain't rusty." Drawled McCree. "But I wouldn't mind putting a little lead your way." He smiled.

"I've been meaning to try this new tech I stole from Vishkar." Said Lucio. "And try out the new skates!"

Genji and Zenyatta stirred themselves from their reverie. "We will accompany you too. Overwatch is said to not be idle, and even though I am a monk, I am not a pacifist."

"Excellent!" Cried Draconian. "Meet me in the facility in a half hour! And Angela, would you mind changing the format of the arena?"

She nodded, and Draconian grinned, walking down to the facility, where he closed his eyes and waited, his breathing becoming still, placing his hands over the cane in a composed and gentlemanly manner.

True to their word, they all came down within half an hour. Draconian, excited and pleased, hefted the cane, holding it just below its handle like a makeshift sword. "Alright, who's first?"

Genji stepped forward, three smooth shurikens emerging from within his mechanical forearm. "I shall go. Is that cane your weapon?"

"Yes indeed it is." Said Draconian. "Stand here, and I will take stance across from you. Angela, start the arena!" Off to his right, Angela, standing in a control room twenty feet above them, flicked several levers. Hatches in the arena opened, dispensing several boulders and artificial trees for terrain.

"On three." Said Angela, using a mic to communicate, everyone else shuffling off to the side. "One… two… THREE!"

Genji leapt into the air, flicking his three shurikens at Draconian with accuracy that could've hit a flying sparrow's eye. The cane flashed up and down, deflecting them into the arena floor. Before the average human could blink, Genji had unsheathed his sword and slashed at Draconian, who quickly backpedaled, blocking the slashes and low swings with his cane.

"I heard you were better than this!" Said Genji, taunting him as he kept backpedaling.

"You say that now." Said Draconian. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

He deflected the next attack, sliding the cane all the way down to the hilt of Genji's blade and striking him in the fingers. Genji, despite his augmentations, could still feel pain in his fingers. He yelped, dropping the sword as Draconian shifted his stance, suddenly going on the offensive. Genji quickly unsheathed his wakizashi, stepping in close with the smaller sword.

"Oh no you don't." Said Draconian, who flashed a fierce grin, and kicked Genji, smacking him with the cane back and forth. He brought back the cane as Genji staggered, thrusting it forward point first into his abdomen and causing him to slide back twenty feet.

Genji righted himself, standing up fully as he caught his breath. "Whew… you are no novice, Draconian."

"I never really allowed myself to be."

Genji smiled beneath his mask. "As well you should." He rushed forward, flinging more shurikens at Draconian as he deflected them with ease. Draconian, prepared for another swing of the wakizashi, raised his cane, but was surprised as Genji cut low, slashing his side as he dove past and grabbed his katana.

Draconian looked back, and could see a fierce light in Genji's green visor. He raised his sword, and shouted "Ryojin no ken wo kurae!" Green scales burst into life on his katana, the image of a dragon, not one of Draconian's, snarling on the edge of the blade. He dashed forward, and Draconian started backpedaling, using the cane to deflect the stronger, augmented blows.

As Genji leapt into the air, poised to strike, Draconian flicked the cane downward, reversing his hold on it as a sudden click sheathed the blade of the cane, a serrated whip unfurling out and lashing around Genji's leg, to the surprise of him and the onlooking crowd.

Draconian brought it back, lashing at Genji several times, unable to close the distance of the cane turned shredded whip. "The Hunters are pretty damn resourceful." Mused Draconian. "The Threaded Cane is pretty popular among the gentlemen of their group. It's no Powder Keg invention, but it's pretty damn skillful."

It flicked out once more, lashing around his leg. He swung Genji around, throwing him into rocks in the arena with such force they cracked under Genji's metallic body. He clicked the whip back, the threads disappearing as he resumed the form of the cane, thrusting him backward with one sharp stab. Genji collapsed to the ground, and Draconian lowered the cane with finality. "Ah, that was fun."

Genji stood up, clutching his abdomen. "Hold on… I thought I was supposed to beat you?"

"Beat me? No. I'm supposed to make you better until you can sufficiently injure me. You don't have to worry about killing me, but you do have to rival me in battle."

"Agh…" Genji clutched his side in pain. "That will be a challenge."

"Yes it will." Draconian smirked. "Here." He held out his hand, a soft golden light reminiscent of Mercy's staff flowing onto Genji, healing his aches and pains.

Genji nodded in appreciation. "Next challenger!" Called Draconian.

Tracer blinked out onto the field, her pulse pistols already in hand and her visor on. Hana, however, was not going to sit idly. From a door in the side of the arena emerged a huge pink robot, a stylized MEKA unit fitted with various stickers of brands and gaming companies.

"Hey! No fair!" Pouted Hana. "I was gonna go…"

Tracer looked at Hana guiltily. "Oh. My bad luv. You can-"

"Why not both of you?" Said Draconian.

They looked at him. "Both of us?"

"Sure. Stiffer competition is fun." He grinned, and the cane he used disappeared into smoke. He brought back his right hand as if he were holding a sack, and a huge, oversized wheel appeared in his hands, as if he had torn it off a carriage. Something about that wheel made everyone with the exception of Draconian feel sick, and Zenyatta seemed to shiver at looking at it.

"What is that?" Said McCree. "Gives me the spooks just looking at it…"

Hana, now no longer the small firecracker she was, dived into her MEKA, becoming one much larger firecracker as she moved the MEKA out of the bay. Draconian knew it had a lot of mobility, but didn't expect it to be so fast.

Tracer, on the other hand, grinned. "You ready for this, old man?"

Draconian grinned in turn. "Old huh? You might regret saying that."

She ran over to stand by , ready to bring the pain with speed and firepower.

And it began.

and Tracer blitzed their opponent, standing relaxed with the wheel over his shoulder. As began firing rockets, Draconian spun the wheel, catching all of them in the spokes as they exploded against it, leaving no mark on the seeming wood. Tracer danced around him, firing pulse pistols at him from a range beyond the wheel. , whose rockets were on cooldown, got up close and personal to Draconian, engaging him human to MEKA. He swung the wheel mightily, the MEKA catching the wheel with difficulty, so strong was the strike. He stepped backward, then leaped at her, aiming to smash the chassis of the MEKA. She flew underneath his strike, the wheel leaving a huge gash in the ground.

Tracer, her pulse pistols barely wearing him down over range, stepped up close to him. "Gotchya something!" She said merrily. An orange and blue bomb flew out from her hand, attaching to Draconian's chest as he looked down in shock. Before he could tear it off, it blew up in his face, leaving a cloud of smoke.

Tracer rushed over to 's side, watching as the smoke cleared.

Draconian stood up slowly, coughing as he brushed off his undamaged suit. "Nice… blow." He said, seeming winded. "But you'll have to do better than that."

With that, he raised the wheel above his head, splitting the wheel in half with an ear splitting howl. Dark red smoke seemed to seethe from the wheel, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees as the howl faded.

Zenyatta nearly fell out of the air, and everyone else clutched their head in pain. "What spirits are those, who rage with blood?" Said Zenyatta cryptically, slowly straightening himself.

"Yeah, the Vilebloods are eternally pissed." Said Draconian matter of factly. "This is Logarius' Wheel, used to slaughter pretty much all of them except for two. As you can see, their rage powers this thing up."

, clutching her head in pain and wanting the essence of the wheel to fade, pressed a button on her MEKA, launching it toward Draconian as he walked forward with the shimmering weapon. Draconian, seeing the unpiloted MEKA fly toward him and slowly light up, had time enough to say, "Oh shit."

….

"Okay, so maybe using the wheel was a bad idea."

Everyone around him looked sick and exhausted, including Angela who had been behind bullet proof glass twenty feet above him. "Please, Draconian… Don't use that again." She said.

The wheel sat inert and stationary beside him, a silent shape of wood. He nodded, then looked to the wheel. "Bad Vilebloods! Be less wrathful!" He said, as if he were chastising a dog.

"So… what next?" Said Hana.

"More training. And brawling." Draconian grinned. "Though, how are you going to do that without your MEKA?"

She returned his smile. "Oh don't worry about the MEKA. The whole thing is a nuclear powered 3D printer. It'll return in an hour or so in the bay it was in."

Draconian nodded. "Okay then. That'll be all for today. We'll keep this up for however long it takes." He smiled wider, his eyes glowing hot gold, and slung his cape over his shoulders, walking out of the room.

The next few weeks were a schedule of morning and evening fights with Draconian, using several archaic and odd weapons at his disposal, summoning them from thin air. He didn't use the wheel again, instead using a standard silver straight sword that could be sheathed into the haft of a huge stone hammer. Other days, he switched it up, using a saber with a dagger attached to its hilt which he would split apart, dual wielding the two of them. He called the weapon Rakuyo, or Falling Leaf.

This continued for three weeks, Draconian seeming to be happier with each fight.

However, the small disturbance he felt only seemed to grow, an intuition that something, soon, was going to break out in a storm of hellfire. But until it did, he was content practicing with Overwatch.

He walked into the room, ready to go once more. McCree was watching TV in the side area of the arena, and Zenyatta floated serenely onto the battlefield. Draconian readied his weapon, which seemed to be a black straight sword with serpents coiled around the crossguard, appearing slightly old and frail, yet maintaining a brilliant black luster to the blade itself.

"That will not unleash a horde of angry spirits, will it?" Said Zenyatta jokingly.

Draconian chuckled. "No. It's just a sword."

Zenyatta nodded. "I see. I hope you are prepared for a fight." Said Zen, the orbs around his neck rotating rapidly in anticipation.

"I think I shall be." Said Draconian calmly. "Now, let's fi-"

"Everyone, get in here!" The voice of McCree sounded from the side of the battlefield.

"McCree, what is it?" Said Genji warily.

He pointed to the holographic TV, where a scene of fire and devastation was on the screen. In the background, high graceful buildings scraped the sky, and the sunset made the glass and bronze architecture of Numbani orange and gold.

The fires came from a prison, located outside the city, and outside the prison's perimeters, several Talon dropships unloaded their cargo of soldiers, clad in black with black masks and red eyes, laying siege to it.

The disturbance Draconian had been feeling was now confirmed. And he knew what was to come. But he would still do it.

The black sword disappeared from his hands, replaced with a notebook and a silver pen. He quickly wrote something down, turning towards the door, rushing through the base and heading outside. He tore out the page as Tracer followed him. "Draconian, wait! Where are you going?"

"To stop them." He said.

Angela followed right behind them, hearing his abrupt words. "Draconian, you attempting to fight a whole platoon of Talon mercenaries-"

"Is not the hardest thing I've done." He said, finishing her sentence. He crushed the piece of paper in his hand, blue flame lighting it up into ash, where it drifted away on the breeze.

As it did so, a white and blue hole arched above him, the wind picking up as a Dragon emerged from it. Angela and Tracer gasped, watching as it crawled out, its head sharp and triangular and its scales a brilliant sun yellow. Vast wings spread out, and a voice echoed in all of their heads, a deep and smooth baritone filled with otherwordly power.

"Good day, brother." The Dragon's eyes seemed to shine merrily, bright purple irises like amethysts. "You called?"

"I did, Hilatius. I require speed and a flight to Numbani."

"Numbani… The city of glass yes?" Draconian nodded.

"Draconian, you can't be serious!" Yelled Angela.

He simply smiled down at them. "Join me if you wish at Numbani. Your airship is a bit slower though. Oh, and cover your ears."

Hilatius crouched, then sprang into the air with such force it generated a sonic boom, heard all throughout the base, causing them to look up and see a huge yellow Dragon soar off at the speed of sound as they came out of the base.

"Don't just stand there!" Snapped Angela. "We have a mission! Go!"


End file.
